THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  SHIP 

A  PLAY  IN  THREE  ACTS 


BY 
ST.  JOHN  G.  ERVINE 

NOVELS 

MRS.   MARTIN'S  MAN 
ALICE  AND  A  FAMILY 
CHANGING  WINDS 
THE  FOOLISH  LOVERS 

PLAYS 

MIXED  MARRIAGE 

THE  MAGNANIMOUS  LOVER 

JANE  CLEGG 

JOHN  FERGUSON 


THE    SHIP 

A  PLAY  IN  THREE  ACTS 


BY 

ST.  JOHN  G.  ERVINE 


got* 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1922 

All  rights  rettrved 


PRINTED  IN   THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


COPYRIGHT,  1922, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


Set  up  and  printed.     Published  May,  1922. 


Press  of 

J.  J.  Little  &  Ives  Company 
New  York,  U.  S.  A. 


College 
Library 


To 
FLORENCE  LAMONT 


1115801 


I  wish  to  express  my  gratitude  to  MAJOR 
W.  A.  SIMNETT,  M.B.E.,  Royal  Engineers,  for 
the  assistance  he  gave  me  in  connexion  with 
technical  details  of  shipbuilding. 


THE  FIRST  ACT 

A  room  in  John  Thurlow's  country-house,  near  the 
shipbuilding  town  of  Biggport. 


THE  SECOND  ACT 
The  living-room  of  Jack  Thurlow's  farm. 

THE  THIRD  ACT 

SCENE      I.     Same  as  Act  I. 

SCENE    II.    A  corner  of  the  garden  of  John  Thur- 
low's country-house. 

SCENE  III.     Same  as  Scene  I. 

Five  months  elapse  between  Acts  I  and  II;  three 
months  between  Acts  II  and  III ;  five  days  between 
Scene  I  and  Scene  II,  Act  III;  and  a  few  hours  be- 
tween Scene  II  and  Scene  III,  Act  III. 

The  period  is  the  immediate  future. 


CHARACTERS 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW. 

JOHN  THURLOW,  her  son,  a  shipbuilder. 

JANET,  his  wife. 

JACK,  his  son. 

HESTER,  his  daughter. 

CAPTAIN  CORNELIUS. 

GEORGE  NORWOOD. 

MAID. 


ACT  ONE 


THE  FIRST  ACT 

The  time  is  a  Saturday  afternoon  in  autumn,  and  the 
scene  is  laid  in  JOHN  THURLOW'S  country-house, 
chosen  by  him  because  it  is  easily  accessible  from 
his  shipyard  at  Biggport.  The  room  is  hand- 
somely furnished,  without  being  conspicuously 
artistic,  for  the  Thurlows  are  people  of  taste, 
conventional,  perhaps,  but  not  -without  the  signs 
of  well-marked  individuality.  Prominently  dis- 
played in  the  room  are  models  of  ships,  one  of  a 
sixteenth-century  man-of-war  in  full  sail,  the  other 
of  a  quadruple-screw,  coal-fed  Atlantic  liner  of 
the  type  of  the  "Titanic."  The  pictures  are  mainly 
of  industrial  subjects,  and  MR.  THURLOW  is  proud, 
and  justly  proud,  of  his  excellent  collection  of 
etchings  by  Mr.  Muirhead  Bone,  some  of  which 
represent  scenes  in  the  Biggport  shipyard.  If 
we  could  see  into  the  dining-room,  we  should  dis- 
cover large  frescoes  in  the  •modern  manner,  show- 
ing the  building  of  a  ship  from  the  laying  of  its 
keel  to  the  time  when  it  is  ready  to  take  its  trial 
trip. 

The  long  windows  leading  to  the  garden  are  open, 

because  the  day  is  unexpectedly  mild,  and  OLD 

MRS.  THURLOW,  who  is  seated  by  the  fire,  likes 

the  windows  to  be  open  whenever  possible.    She 

3 


4  The  Ship 

is  an  old  woman,  aged  eighty-three,  but  she  has 
no  intention  of  yielding  to  her  years.  She  can 
still  read  without  glasses  and  her  hearing  is  acute. 
People  exclaim  at  her  resistance  to  the  infirmities 
of  age,  and  Mr.  Cobain,  the  Vicar,  seldom  omits 
to  say  that  she  is  a  wonderfully  well-preserved  old 
lady,  a  compliment  which  she  hardly  appreciates 
in  those  words  because,  so  she  says,  it  makes  her 
feel  like  jam. 

Her  daughter-in-law,  JANET  THURLOW,  or  YOUNG 
MRS.  THURLOW,  as  she  is  sometimes  called 
to  distinguish  her  from  her  mother-in-law,  is 
seated  by  the  tea-table  on  the  other  side  of  the 
fire,  but  not  in  such  a  position  as  to  obscure  OLD 
MRS.  THURLOW'S  view-  of  the  garden.  A  MAID 
is  placing  a  tea-tray  on  the  table,  and  JANET  THUR- 
LOW is  supervising  the  operation.  YOUNG  MRS. 
THURLOW  is  a  soft,  pliable  woman,  with  one  belief 
most  firmly  held,  that  happiness  is  only  to  be 
obtained  in  this  world,  and  probably  in  the  next, 
by  those  who  never  "make  a  fuss"  about  any- 
thing. She  hates  "bother,"  and  successfully 
avoids  it  by  rarely  offering  opposition  to  any  one, 
and  then  only  to  a  lesser  person  in  order  to 
placate  a  greater  one.  Her  family  treat  her  as  a 
dear  and  lovable,  but  totally  unimportant,  person; 
and  since  this  treatment  absolves  her  from  a  great 
deal  of  "fuss"  and  "bother,"  she  is  content.  Her 
age  is  considerably  less  than  that  of  her  husband — 
"Just  twenty  years  between  us,  my  dear!"  she  al- 
ways says,  as  if  the  roundness  of  the  figure  atoned 


The  Ship  5 

for  its  size — for  he,  now  sixty-two,  married  late 
in  life. 

HESTER  THURLOW,  her  daughter,  whose  age  is  nine- 
teen, is  seen  walking  about  the  garden.  THE 
MAID  has  placed  the  tray  on  the  table,  and  JANET 
is  now  pouring  out  the  tea. 

JANET.  Thank  you,  Maggie !  (She  turns  and  calls 
to  her  daughter. )  Tea,  Hester ! 

HESTER.  All  right,  mother!  (But  she  remains 
where  she  is.) 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  When  do  you  expect  John, 
Janet? 

JANET  (as  she  hands  a  cup  of  tea  to  THE  MAID). 
That's  Mrs.  Thurlow's !  (THE  MAID  carries  it  to  OLD 
MRS.  THURLOW.)  My  dear,  I  never  expect  John  at 
any  time.  He's  like  the  wind  which  bloweth  where  it 
listeth.  (Again  to  HESTER.)  Hester,  your  tea  is  get- 
ting cold,  dear!  (To  OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.)  There's 
nothing  I  dislike  so  much  as  tepid  tea.  (THE  MAID 
goes  out.) 

HESTER  (entering).    All  the  flowers  are  nearly  dead. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  The  autumn's  almost  over, 
my  dear! 

HESTER  (taking  a  cup  from,  the  tray).  I  hate  to  see 
them  withering. 

JANET.  You  should  do  what  I  do — pretend  you 
don't  see  them. 

HESTER  (sitting  beside  her  grandmother).  But  I 
can't  help  seeing  them. 

JANET.    Oh,  yes,  you  can.    Don't  look! 


The  Ship 


HESTER.  Do  you  know  what  train  Jack's  coming 
by,  mother?  I'd  like  to  go  and  meet  him. 

JANET.  No.  He  didn't  say.  (To  OLD  MRS.  THUR- 
LOW.)  He's  like  the  wind,  too. 

HESTER.  Perhaps  he'll  come  with  father  and  George 
in  the  car. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Is  George  coming  to-day? 

JANET.  Yes.  John  and  he  are  bringing  home  a 
model  of  the  "Magnificent"  to  put  along  with  those 
two  over  there.  (She  indicates  the  other  models  by  a 
turn  of  her  head.} 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  George  reminds  me  very 
much  of  your  father,  Hester,  when  he  was  a  boy. 
Always  thinking  of  ships !  He  ran  away  from  school 
once  to  see  a  boat  launched  from  the  Yard,  and  your 
grandfather  was  going  to  thrash  him  for  it,  but  I  said 
he'd  much  better  apprentice  him  to  shipbuilding.  I 
had  great  difficulty  in  making  him  consent — he  wanted 
your  father  to  be  a  minister  like  himself!  .  .  . 
HESTER.  I  can't  imagine  father  as  a  minister. 
OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  No,  dear,  nor  could  I.  The 
Yard  was  a  very  small  one  then.  We  little  thought 
John  would  own  it  one  day. 

HESTER  (full  of  pride).  And  now  it's  the  biggest 
shipyard  in  the  world. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (equally  proud}.  Yes,  that's 
what  your  father  has  made  of  it. 

HESTER.  Isn't  it  funny  that  Jack  doesn't  seem  very 
keen  on  shipbuilding.  George  likes  the  Yard  much 
better  than  Jack  does. 

JANET.  Nonsense,  Hester!  How  can  anyone  help 
liking  a  thing  which  makes  so  much  money  ? 


The  Ship  7 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (holding  her  cup  out).  May 
I  have  some  more  tea  ? 

JANET.    Hester,  your  grandmother's  cup,  please! 

HESTER  (passing  the  cup  on  to  her  mother) .  I  wish 
father  weren't  so  desperately  anxious  to  have  Jack  in 
the  Yard. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.     Jack's  his  only  son,  my  dear. 

HESTER.     But  that  isn't  Jack's  fault,  granny. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  No,  but  it's  an  explanation 
of  your  father's  wish.  A  man  likes  to  think  of  his 
work  being  carried  on  by  his  son. 

HESTER.  You  didn't  think  so  when  father  wanted 
to  be  a  shipbuilder  instead  of  a  minister. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  No,  my  dear,  that  isn't  quite 
true.  But  I've  always  thought  that  people  ought  to 
be  allowed  to  find  their  own  way  as  far  as  possible, 
and  I  don't  like  to  see  a  young  man  compelled  to  give 
up  his  ambition  for  his  father's. 

JANET  (passing  OLD  MRS.  THURLOW'S  tea  to  her, 
via  HESTER).  Anybody  can  like  anything.  It's  all  a 
question  of  making  up  your  mind  and  not  being  fussy. 
For  years  and  years  I  couldn't  eat  tomatoes.  Then  I 
said  to  myself,  "This  is  ridiculous,  this  .  .  .  this 
prejudice  against  tomatoes!"  and  I  forced  myself  to 
eat  them,  although  I  was  sick  twice,  and  now  I'm 
really  quite  fond  of  them. 

[The  door  opens,  and  JACK  THURLOW  enters. 
He  is  a  good-looking,  honest,  humourless, 
rather  priggish  lad  of  twenty-one.  He  is 
dressed  with  that  cultivated  carelessness 
which  is  characteristic  of  the  young  man 


8  The  Ship 

in  revolt  against  convention.    His  clothes 
are  of  rough  tweed,  but  the  tailoring  is 
good,  and,  although  he  would  be  very  in- 
dignant if  he  were  told  so,  he  takes  as 
much  trouble  with  his  artistic  tie  as  a 
fashionable  fop  takes  with  his.] 
JANET  and  HESTER  (simultaneously).    Jack!! 
JACK.     I  thought  I'd  surprise  you. 
HESTER  (-meeting  him  half-way  and  embracing  him). 
Why  didn't  you  tell  us  what  train  you  were  coming 
by,  and  then  I'd  have  met  you? 

JACK.     I  didn't  know  myself  until  the  last  minute. 
I  intended  to  go  and  find  father  and  have  a  chat  with 
him — he  isn't  home  yet,  is  he? 
HESTER.     No,  not  yet. 

JACK.  And  then  I  changed  my  mind  and  came 
down  by  myself.  (He  goes  to  JANET  and  kisses  her.) 
Any  tea,  mother? 

JANET.  I'll  get  some  more.  Hester,  darling,  ring 
the  bell,  will  you  ? 

[HESTER  does  so,  white  JACK  greets  his  grand- 
mother. ] 

JACK.     How  are  you,  granny?     (Kisses  her.) 
OLD   MRS.   THURLOW.     All  the  better    for   seeing 
you,  my  dear.     Sit  here  beside  me  and  tell  me  what 
you  did  in  France. 

[He  sits  beside  her. 

HESTER  (seating  herself  near  them) .  Yes,  do,  Jack. 
Your  letters  hardly  told  us  anything. 

[THE  MAID  enters. 
JANET.     Some  fresh  tea  for  Mr.  Jack,  Maggie. 


The  Ship  9 

MAID  (taking  the  tea-pot}.    Yes,  ma'am.     (Exit.) 

JACK.  I  don't  know  that  I  did  so  very  much, 
granny,  but  I  thought  a  good  deal.  I — I  reviewed  my 
whole  life. 

JANET.  My  dear  boy,  how  could  you?  You  were 
only  there  three  weeks. 

JACK.  Yes,  but  I  thought  very  hard.  I  felt  discon- 
tented, mother,  and  I  asked  myself  a  great  many  ques- 
tions. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Did  you  get  any  answers,  my 
dear? 

JACK.  Well,  yes,  granny,  I  think  so.  The  final 
answer  depends  upon  father  to  a  great  extent.  When 
is  he  coming  home? 

JANET.  My  dear,  nobody  ever  knows  when  your 
father  is  coming  home,  least  of  all  me. 

HESTER.  Did  mother  tell  you  that  the  Queen  is  go- 
ing to  launch  the  "Magnificent"  ? 

JANET.  Of  course  I  told  him,  Hester.  As  if  I'd 
forget  a  thing  like  that.  (THE  MAID  returns  with  the 
tea-pot.)  Ah,  here's  the  tea!  Thank  you,  Maggie! 

[THE  MAID  puts  the  pot  on  the  table  and  goes 
out.] 

HESTER.  I'm  so  glad  the  Queen  is  coming  on  Mon- 
day. George  says  father  is  sure  to  get  a  title. 

JANET.  I  wonder  if  he  ought  to  take  it.  People  are 
so  suspicious  of  titles,  even  if  they  are  taken  innocently. 

JACK.  I  don't  suppose  father  wants  one.  Titles  are 
all  right  for  people  who  haven't  got  anything  else  to 
justify  their  existence. 

JANET.    Oh,  darling,  don't  be  so  cynical.    If  your 


io  The  Ship 

father  were  to  receive  a  peerage,  you'd  be  the  Honour- 
able John  Thurlow.  (Passing  his  cup  to  him.)  Here's 
your  tea !  And  you,  Hester,  you'd  be  the  Honourable 
Hester  Thurlow.  (Reflectively,  as  if  she  were  tasting 
the  title.)  It  sounds  rather  nice.  The  Honourable 
Hester  Thurlow !  .  .  .  Well,  if  the  King  offers  a  peer- 
age to  your  father,  my  dears,  I  shall  advise  him  to 
accept  it  for  your  sakes.  Parents  should  always  put 
their  children's  wishes  before  their  own.  Did  I  give 
you  any  sugar,  Jack  ? 

JACK.    Yes,  thank  you,  mother. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  What  sort  of  questions  did 
you  ask  yourself  in  France,  Jack  ? 

JACK.  All  sorts,  granny.  Questions  about  myself 
and  father  and  the  Yard  and  .  .  .  God ! 

JANET.  God !  I  don't  quite  see  the  connection,  dar- 
ling. 

JACK.    Don't  you,  mother?    I  do.    You  do,  granny? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  I  can  understand  you  seeing 
it,  Jack. 

JACK.  I  just  reviewed  my  whole  position,  mother. 
What  am  I  doing  in  this  world  ?  What  am  I  here  for  ? 
What's  the  good  of  me?  What's  God  got  to  do  with 
me?  Things  like  that ! 

JANET.  I  never  ask  myself  such  questions.  I  should 
feel  as  if  I  were  taking  a  liberty. 

JACK.  But,  mother,  a  man  has  to  ask  himself  such 
questions  if  he's  going  to  understand  life  at  all. 

JANET.  It  isn't  necessary  to  understand  life.  All 
you've  got  to  do  is  to  live  it. 

JACK.  What  I  want  to  get  at  is  this.  Here's  God 
and  here  am  I!  .  .  .  (He  indicates  points  on  the  floor.) 


The  Ship  ii 

JANET.    Darling !    On  the  hearth-rug,  too ! 

JACK.    I'm  not  trying  to  be  funny,  mother.    Am  I, 


granny 


OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  No,  dear.  But  go  on.  I'm 
impatient  to  hear  what  judgment  you  passed  on  God. 

JACK  (rebuffed).  Oh,  now  you're  making  fun  of 
me,  too. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (patting  him  affectionately). 
No,  I'm  not,  Jack.  But  young  men  nowadays  pull  very 
long  faces,  and  really,  dear,  it  isn't  necessary. 

JACK.  But  we've  got  to  find  out  about  things, 
granny. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  I  know,  but  you  needn't  make 
your  enquiries  as  if  you  suspected  the  worst. 

JACK.  It's  awful  when  you  look  at  the  world  and  see 
what  a  mess  it's  in. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  I  remember  hearing  Thomas 
Carlyle  say  something  like  that.  He  was  very  ill,  poor 
man. 

JACK.    Everything  seems  all  wrong. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  And  are  you  going  to  put 
everything  right,  my  dear? 

JACK.    I  want  to  do  what  I  can. 

JANET.    You'll  be  very  busy,  darling. 

JACK  (rising  and  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire). 
I've  thought  it  all  out,  and  it  seems  to  me,  granny,  that 
I've  got  to  begin  with  myself. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  That's  a  great  improvement 
on  most  reformers,  Jack,  who  generally  want  to  begin 
on  other  people. 

JACK.  Well,  I'm  going  to  begin  with  myself.  The 
rest  ought  to  be  easy.  (  The  boys  sincerity  transcends 


12  The  Ship 

his  priggishness  as  the  speech  proceeds.)  When  I  was 
in  France,  granny,  I  went  up  to  part  of  the  devastated 
area — along  the  valley  of  the  Somme,  from  Albert  up 
to  Bapaume  and  Peronne — and  I  thought  how  horrible 
it  was  that  all  those  decent  chaps  went  out  to  the  War, 
full  of  chivalry  and  idealism,  and  then  came  back,  dis- 
illusioned and  embittered.  I  used  to  wonder  why  the 
men  who  went  to  the  War  were  so  cynical  about 
women  and  politics  and  England — about  everything. 
And  now  I  think  I  know.  They  feel  as  if  they'd  been 
crucified  and  buried,  but  hadn't  risen  again.  It  must 
have  been  ghastly  to  go  through  the  things  they 
suffered,  and  then  come  home  to  all  the  old  things  made 
worse.  Well,  I  suppose  they're  done  for,  poor  devils. 
They've  lost  hope  and  faith,  and  they  just  don't  care 
any  more  about  anything.  But  I've  got  all  my  hope, 
granny,  and  I  want  to  see  if  people  like  me  can't  put 
things  right — more  right  than  they  are  now.  I  know 
this  sounds  frightfully  priggish,  but  I  can't  help  that. 
I  feel  that  each  one  of  us  has  got  to  begin  here.  (He 
touches  his  breast  as  he  speaks.) 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Have  you  found  out  yet  what 
K  right? 

JACK.  I  think  so.  We're  all  too  artificial.  We've 
got  to  lead  a  more  natural  life !  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  The  first  people  to  say  that, 
my  dear,  were  Adam  and  Eve,  and  the  result  was  that 
they  were  put  out  of  the  Garden  of  Eden. 

JANET.  If  I'd  been  Eve  I  should  simply  have  re- 
fused to  go.  I  always  thought  she  was  a  little  too 
acquiescent. 


The  Ship  13 

JACK.  I  used  to  watch  the  peasants  working  in  the 
fields  in  France,  and  while  I  was  watching  them  I  sud- 
denly realised  what  I've  often  suspected,  that  the  cause 
of  all  our  troubles  is  machinery ! 

JANET.    Machinery ! 

HESTER.    What  on  earth  do  you  mean? 

JACK.  Machines  defile  people.  A  man  in  a  fac- 
tory isn't  a  man.  He  isn't  even  a  machine — he's  the 
servant  of  a  machine.  Think  of  all  the  factories  in 
Biggport  pouring  their  muck  into  the  river,  and  then 
think  of  what  the  river  must  have  been  like  before  the 
factories  were  built!  Well,  everything  in  the  world 
now  is  like  that.  When  I  was  in  the  devastated  area, 
I  realised  that  a  machine-driven  world  could  never 
be  anything  else  but  hideous,  that  it  must  become  more 
and  more  hideous.  All  those  beautiful  fields,  so  care- 
fully cultivated  by  the  peasants,  were  smashed  and 
ripped  and  brutally  defiled  by  machinery,  and  the  only 
people  who  were  doing  anything  to  restore  them  to  life 
again  were  the  peasants  working  with  their  hands. 

JANET.    My  dear,  you're  talking  like  Tolstoy. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  I  don't  think  machines  matter 
much,  Jack.  It's  people  who  matter.  Guns  don't 
usually  go  off  by  themselves,  and  anyhow  a  peasant's 
spade  is  a  machine. 

JACK.  I  know  that  we  must  have  machinery  in  our 
lives,  but  I  protest  against  this  servitude  to  machines. 
Nobody  gets  any  fun  out  of  his  work  now.  We're  all 
machine-minders  or  loafers. 

HESTER.  But,  Jack,  you're  working  with  your  hands 
now — in  the  Yard. 


14  The  Ship 

JACK.    I'm  going  to  leave  the  Yard. 

HESTER  and  OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (simultaneously). 
Leave  the  Yard ! ! 

JACK.    Yes. 

JANET.  But  you  can't  leave  it.  Your  father  won't 
let  you.  And  the  Queen  coming  on  Monday,  too ! 

JACK.  Father's  big  ships  are  just  as  wrong  as  the 
Biggport  factories.  I  object  to  these  floating  hotels, 
as  he  calls  them,  because  they  make  the  sea  like  a  dirty, 
neurotic,  modern  city. 

JANET.  That's  just  sentimentality,  Jack.  A  modern 
city  isn't  half  so  dirty  as  the  mediaeval  cities  were.  I 
know.  I've  read  all  about  it  in  Mr.  Wells's  "History 
of  the  World."  We  don't  have  plagues !  .  .  . 

JACK.  Or  poems.  The  mediaeval  people  may  not 
have  had  good  drains,  mother,  but  they  had  great 
poets. 

JANET.  Well,  I  may  be  a  Philistine,  but  I'd  rather 
be  sanitary  than  be  inspired.  "Romeo  and  Juliet" 
would  be  very  little  consolation  to  me  if  I  were  suffer- 
ing from  smallpox.  I  often  think  it  would  have  done 
Shakespeare  good  if  he'd  been  less  exalted  and  more 
hygenic,  living  that  stuffy  life  in  Stratford.  And  if 
there'd  been  more  machinery  in  his  day,  there  wouldn't 
be  any  doubt  about  who  wrote  his  plays.  We'd  know. 

JACK.    Perhaps  there  wouldn't  be  any  plays. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Oh,  yes,  there  would,  my 
dear.  One's  difficulty  with  a  genius  is,  not  how  to  en- 
courage him,  but  how  to  keep  him  in  order.  I  think 
your  mother's  right. 

HESTER.  What  are  you  going  to  do  when  you  leave 
the  Yard,  Jack? 


The  Ship  15 

JACK.  I  talked  the  subject  over  with  a  man  I  met 
in  France.  His  name's  Cornelius,  and  he's  an  ex- 
officer,  rather  at  a  loose  end.  He'll  come  into  partner- 
ship with  me  in  a  farm,  and  I  want  father  to  give  me 
the  money!  .  .  . 

JANET.    You're  going  to  be  a  farmer ! 

JACK.    Yes,  mother.    I  want  to  grow  things. 

JANET.  You  know  you're  simply  flying  in  the  face 
of  Providence — to  say  nothing  of  your  father ! 

JACK.  That's  another  point.  I've  realised  for  some 
time  past  that  father  has  a  much  stronger  will  than  I 
have,  and  in  the  Yard  I'm  simply  a  sounding-board  for 
his  opinions.  I  seem  to  have  no  will  of  my  own  there — 
just  his  will.  You  understand  me,  don't  you,  granny? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  I  think  so,  dear.  But  I  won- 
der whether  it  isn't  better  to  express  the  will  of  greater 
people  than  ourselves  than  to  insist  on  expressing  our 
own. 

JACK.  No,  no,  granny,  no!  Let's  each  express  our 
own  will. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  There'd  be  frightful  con- 
fusion if  we  did,  Jack. 

JACK.  Well,  confusion  is  better  than  slavery.  I 
have  a  right  to  my  own  life  and  thoughts,  but  I  can't 
have  them  under  father.  He's  too  much  for  me. 

JANET.  Nonsense,  Jack.  I've  been  married  to  your 
father  for  twenty-two  years,  and  I've  proved  that  it's 
quite  easy  to  get  on  with  him.  Just  do  what  he  tells 
you,  and  he's  perfectly  reasonable. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  My  dear,  you're  very  young 
and  I'm  very  old,  and  sometimes  I  think  that  the  very 
old  understand  the  very  young  better  than  anyone  else, 


16  The  Ship 

because  you're  so  near  the  beginning  and  we're  so  near 
the  end.  I  want  you  to  believe  that  I'm  trying  to 
understand  your  point  of  view  when  I  say  it's  better 
to  go  on  than  to  go  back !  .  .  . 

JACK.    Not  always,  granny ! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  No,  but  nearly  always.  Peo- 
ple like  your  father  haven't  finished  their  work — 
they're  only  midway  through  it.  But  you  think, 
because  you  see  the  confusion  of  a  half -completed  job, 
that  it's  a  bungled  job.  You  said  something  just  now 
about  the  bitterness  which  fills  the  young  men  who 
came  back  from  the  War,  but  you  don't  seem  to  real- 
ise that  an  ideal  which  cannot  survive  a  blow.  .  .  . 

JACK.    A  terrible  blow,  granny. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Yes,  dear,  a  very  terrible 
blow,  but  surely  the  only  ideal  worth  having  is  the  one 
which  survives  all  blows  ?  To  me,  the  most  wonderful 
thing  in  the  world  is  not  the  young  man  beginning  life 
with  ideals — we  all  do  that — but  the  old  man  dying 
with  them  undiminished.  So  few  do  that.  Your 
father's  an  idealist — oh,  yes,  he  is — with  a  passion  for 
ships.  He  has  suffered  many  blows  to  his  faith  in 
ships,  but  he's  kept  his  faith.  Whenever  he  was 
knocked  downj  he  got  up  again.  My  son  will  never 
give  in  to  anything,  and  if  I  were  a  boy  I  should  be 
proud  to  serve  such  a  man. 

JACK.  But  I  don't  believe  in  his  faith,  granny.  I 
don't  believe  in  it !  ... 

[The  door  opens,  and  THE  MAID  enters. 

MAID.  The  master  and  Mr.  Norwood  have  just 
come,  ma'am.  They've  got  a  big  case  with  them. 


The  Ship  17 

[Before  JANET  can  make  any  reply  to  this 
announcement,  JOHN  THURLOW  enters. 
THE  MAID  retires.  JOHN  THURLOW  is 
a  tall,  bearded  man,  a-ged  sixty-two,  de- 
liberate in  his  ways,  but  very  definite 
and  authoritative  in  speech.  He  is 
affectionate  in  a  manner  that  is  almost 
condescending,  and,  in  spite  of  his 
appearance  of  coolness,  is  full  of  pos- 
sessive fury  which  ranges  from  great 
passion  to  mere  sentimentality.  His  love 
for  his  mother  is  very  marked:  he  even 
uses  a  different  and  gentler  tone  in 
speaking  to  her  than  he  uses  in  speaking 
to  the  others.] 

JOHN.    Hester!  .  .  .  Hilloa,  Jack,  you  back  again  ? 
JACK  (from  whom  some  of  the  confidence  has  now 
evaporated).    Yes,  father. 

JOHN.  Well,  go  and  help  George,  will  you?  We've 
brought  home  the  model  of  the  "Magnificent,"  and  it's 
too  heavy  for  him  alone. 

JACK  (going  towards  the  door).    Very  good,  father. 
JOHN  (as  Jack  passes  him).    Had  a  good  holiday? 
JACK.    Yes,  thank  you.     (Exit.) 
JOHN  (as  he  kisses  his  wife).    He  looks  well,  doesn't 
he? 

JANET.    Yes.    Have  you  had  any  tea,  John? 
JOHN   (kissing  Hester,  who  has  gone  to  him).     I 
don't  want  any,  thanks.     (To  HESTER.)     Well,  young 
woman,  what  do  you  want  ? 
HESTER.    Nothing,  daddy. 


i8  The  Ship 

JOHN.    God  bless  my  soul,  child,  are  you  ill? 

HESTER  (with  a  pout).    Oh,  daddy! 

JOHN  (putting  her  aside  and  going  to  his  mother). 
Do  you  hear  that,  mother  ?  Hester  has  got  everything 
she  wants.  Lucky  girl ! 

HESTER.  Daddy,  you  aren't  a  bit  funny  when  you 
try  to  be. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,  you 
mustn't  be  disrespectful  to  your  parents'  wit.  Humour 
thy  father  and  thy  mother  that  thy  days  may  be  long 
in  the  land  which  the  Lord  thy  God  giveth  thee. 

JOHN  (sitting  beside  his  mother).  And  what  have 
you  been  doing  to-day? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Thinking  about  you,  my  dear. 

JOHN.  Well,  you  couldn't  have  employed  your  time 
better.  Could  she,  Hester? 

HESTER.    Father,  you  are  a  conceited  old  man !  .  .  . 

JOHN.  Ummmm,  not  so  very  old,  my  dear,  not  so 
very  old!  Why,  your  granny's  only  eighty-three. 
That's  all,  mother.  (OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  pats  him 
affectionately.)  And  everybody  knows  eighty-three's 
nothing.  Never  had  an  ache  in  your  life,  had  you  ? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Only  those  you  caused  me, 
John. 

JOHN.  That's  a  nice  thing  to  say!  .  .  .  (The  door 
is  opened  by  THE  MAID  to  admit  JACK  and  GEORGE.) 
Ah,  here  comes  the  "Magnificent" ! 

[He  goes  half-way  towards  the  door  to  meet 
JACK  and  GEORGE  NORWOOD,  who  enter 
in  that  order,  carrying  a  model  of  the 
"Magnificent"  between  them.  It  is  in  a 
glass  case,  and  is  about  four  feet  long. 


The  Ship  19 

The  "Magnificent"  is  unlike  any  ship 
now  sailing  the  sea.  It  has  not  got  any 
funnels  or  masts,  for  example,  but  has 
ventilation  shafts  where  funnels  would 
ordinarily  be,  and  trellis-work  poles 
used  chiefly  for  wireless  telegraphy 
where  masts  might  be  expected.  The 
principal  differences  between  her  and, 
say,  the  "Olympic"  are  not  outwardly 
observable.  To  eyes  accustomed  to 
coal-fed  liners,  she  looks  unfinished,  ugly 
even.] 

JOHN  (indicating  the  table  in  the  centre  of  the 
room}.  Put  her  down  there.  Gently,  gently!  .  .  . 
(as  JACK  seems  to  stumble). 

JACK.  She's  heavy.  (GEORGE  and  he  put  the  model 
on  the  table.)  Isn't  she,  George? 

[GEORGE  NORWOOD,  aged  twenty-four,  is  a 
firm-willed  young  man,  older  in  mind 
than  he  is  in  years,  with  plenty  of 
imagination  in  shipbuilding,  but  very 
little  in  anything  else.  He  regards 
JOHN  THURLOW  with  feelings  akin  to 
idolatry.] 

GEORGE.  Oh,  I  don't  think  so.  (The  idolatrous 
young  man  would  gladly  strain  himself  lifting  the 
model  of  any  boat  built  by  JOHN  THURLOW.)  She 
doesn't  feel  heavy  to  me.  I  could  have  carried  her  in 
myself,  only  the  Chief  wouldn't  let  me.  He  said  I 
might  hurt  myself,  Mrs.  Thurlow  (this  is  to  JANET), 
but  really  he  was  afraid  I  might  drop  her !  He  wasn't 
thinking  of  me.  Were  you,  Chief? 


20  The  Ship 

JOHN  (to  his  mother}.  That's  how  these  brats  in 
the  Yard  talk  to  me,  mother.  They  think  I've  got 
swelled  head  because  I've  built  the  swiftest  ship  in 
the  world,  and  so  they  try  to  take  me  down  a  peg  or 
two.  Some  of  them  think  they  can  build  ships  better 
than  I  can!  .  .  . 

GEORGE.  Oh,  no,  we  don't,  sir.  If  we  can  build 
them  as  well  as  you  do,  we'll  feel  content. 

JOHN.  Will  you?  If  you  don't  build  'em  better 
than  I  do,  you  won't  be  worth  a  damn.  Will  they, 
mother  ? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    No,  dear. 

JOHN.  What  will  be  the  good  of  me  dying  to  make 
room  for  you  fellows  if  you  don't  improve  on  me  ?  (He 
turns  to  his  mother.}  Come  and  have  a  look  at  her, 
mother.  (He  gives  his  arm  to  OLD  MRS.  THURLOW 
and  leads  her  to  the  model.}  Isn't  she  a  beauty? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Yes,  she's  a  bonny  boat. 

JANET.    But  she  hasn't  got  any  funnels. 

JOHN.  No,  my  dear,  she  hasn't.  We've  abolished 
funnels.  They  belong  to  the  Dark  Ages  when  people 
burned  coal.  We  burn  oil. 

HESTER  (pointing  to  the  ventilation  shafts}.  But 
aren't  those  funnels,  daddy? 

GEORGE  (eager  to  explain  to  her}.  No,  Hester, 
those  are  the  ventilators.  These  poles  are  principally 
for  wireless  telegraphy,  but  they  will  serve  any  useful 
purpose  that  a  mast  serves. 

JANET.  I  think  she  looks  ugly — as  if  she  hadn't  any 
clothes  on. 

JOHN.    Ugly!    She's  beautiful.    Isn't  she,  mother? 


The  Ship  21 

(He  does  not  wait  for  a  reply.)  You're  like  everybody 
else,  Janet.  You  say  a  thing's  ugly  until  you  get  used 
to  it,  and  then  you  think  anything  that's  different  from 
it  is  hideous.  If  you'd  seen  the  first  real  steamship 
you'd  have  thought  her  ugly  because  she  wasn't  like 
that  old  sailing-ship  there!  (He  indicates  the  man- 
of-war.) 

JANET.  Well,  she  may  be  very  wonderful,  but  I 
think  she  looks  ugly. 

JOHN.  Looks !  What  are  looks  compared  with  ac- 
tion? There  isn't  a  ship  in  the  world  that  can  go 
through  the  water  as  the  "Magnificent"  will.  Look  at 
her  shape!  Not  an  inch  of  wasted  space  in  her.  I 
reckon  I  know  something  about  aesthetics,  and  I  say 
that  boat's  beautiful.  Do  you  see  her  keel?  In  coal- 
fed  boats  that  space  was  wasted — full  of  bilge-water — 
and  all  this  space  above  it  was  occupied  by  bunkers  full 
of  coal,  difficult  to  stow  and  shift,  and  filthily  dirty. 
And  what  else  had  you?  Boilers,  and  furnaces,  tak- 
ing up  a  tremendous  amount  of  room.  Waste  space, 
all  of  it  \  Well,  I've  changed  all  that.  I  put  oil  where 
the  bilge-water  used  to  go,  poured  into  the  ship  cleanly 
through  a  hose-pipe,  and  I  put  passengers  where  the 
coal-bunkers  used  to  be.  This  ship  will  be  able  to 
replenish  her  fuel  from  oil-ships  at  sea.  Think  of 
that !  She'll  carry  three  thousand  passengers  and  land 
them  in  New  York  four  days  after  she  leaves  South- 
ampton. 

HESTER.  She  isn't  as  big  as  I  thought  she'd  be, 
daddy. 

JOHN.     No,  she's  not  big.     I  don't  believe  in  big 


22  The  Ship 

ships.  Big  ships  mean  big  harbours  and  trouble  in 
turning. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Won't  the  going  be  rough, 
John? 

JOHN.  No,  mother.  She'll  do  twenty-eight  knots 
an  hour  without  a  quiver.  George,  I  believe  she'll  do 
over  thirty,  without  much  shaking — not  any  more  than 
you'd  get  on  a  Cunarder  or  a  White  Star. 

GEORGE.    I  think  you're  right,  sir ! 

JOHN  (to  OLD  MRS.  THURLOW).  Of  course, 
George  really  thinks  that  oil- fed  ships  are  obsolete 
already.  Don't  you,  George?  He's  all  for  electric- 
ity! ... 

GEORGE.  That'll  come,  sir.  Oil's  too  dear  and  too 
difficult  to  get. 

JOHN.  Well,  that'll  have  to  be  your  job  in  the  world, 
George,  yours  and  Jack's.  My  business  is  with  oil- 
driven  ships.  Isn't  it  disgusting  to  think  that  some  of 
the  best  oil-wells  in  the  world  are  in  the  hands  of  a 
lot  of  damned  Arabs?  I  can't  imagine  why  the  Lord 
wanted  to  put  'em  in  the  Garden  of  Eden.  If  He'd 
only  had  the  sense  to  put  'em  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Southampton!  .  .  . 

JANET.  John,  John,  dear!  That  is  not  the  way  to 
speak  of  the  inscrutable  designs  of  Providence.  Be- 
fore Hester,  too! 

JOHN.  The  next  thing  I'm  going  to  do,  mother,  is 
to  abolish  pilots.  In  a  year  or  two,  this  boat  will  be 
steered  by  wireless  telegraphy.  Some  fellow  sitting 
in  an  office  in  New  York  will  guide  her  along  a  per- 
fectly straight  course  into  her  berth.  Lord,  isn't  it 


The  Ship  23 

wonderful  what  progress  we've  made  with  boats?  A 
hundred  years  ago,  there  weren't  any  steamships,  and 
now  we've  got  the  "Magnificent." 

[While  he  is  speaking,  they  return  to  their 
places,  except  HESTER  and  GEORGE  who 
remain  by  the  model.  JACK  goes  to  the 
window  and  shuts  it.] 

JANET.     Supposing  she  were  to  sink!  .  .  . 

JOHN.  Don't  be  silly,  Janet !  She  can't  sink.  She's 
unsinkable.  You  could  dig  a  hole  in  her  side  as  high 
as  a  house  and  she  wouldn't  sink. 

GEORGE  (illustrating  from  the  model}.  You  see, 
Mrs.  Thurlow,  we  can  isolate  any  part  of  her  in  a 
few  seconds  by  pressing  a  lever  here  on  the  bridge. 

JOHN.  We've  got  the  sea  under  control  at  last, 
Janet.  I  think  I  will  have  some  tea. 

JANET.  Oh,  John,  you  are  provoking!  Why 
couldn't  you  say  so  when  I  asked  you  before? 

JOHN.  I  didn't  want  it  then,  but  I  want  it  now. 
You'll  have  some,  George,  won't  you? 

GEORGE.    Well,  thanks,  if  you're  having  some!  .  .  . 

JOHN.  Right!  (THE  MAID  enters.}  Oh,  here  is 
Maggie!  Maggie,  bring  up  some  more  tea.  Indian 
tea,  and  very  strong.  None  of  that  wishy-washy  China 
stuff ! 

MAID.    Yes,  sir.    (Exit.) 

JOHN.  I  like  to  taste  the  tannin  in  my  tea.  Well, 
Jack,  how's  France  ?  I  hope  you're  glad  to  get  home 
again. 

JACK.    Yes,  father,  I  am. 

JOHN.    I  hope  the  French  people  knocked  some  of 


24  The  Ship 

the  notions  out  of  your  head.  Eh?  (JACK  laughs  a 
little  nervously.)  It's  time  you  settled  down,  my  boy, 
and  got  rid  of  cranky  ideas.  When  did  you  get  back? 

JACK.    Only  a  little  while  ago. 

JOHN.  Oh!  Why  didn't  you  come  down  to  the 
Yard?  You  could  have  motored  home  with  George 
and  me  .  .  ,  and  the  "Magnificent."  (Suddenly,  as 
if  remembering  a  thing  forgotten.)  Damn! 

HESTER.     Father,  you  swear  like  a  flapper! 

JOHN.    George,  we  forgot  to  stop  at  Sanderson's. 

GEORGE.  So  we  did.  I  ought  to  have  remembered. 
Shall  I  go  back  again? 

JOHN.    Yes,  do. 

JANET.    But  he  hasn't  had  any  tea,  poor  thing! 

JOHN.  He  doesn't  want  any  tea.  Take  the  car, 
George.  You'll  be  back  in  half-an-hour. 

HESTER.    I'll  come  too. 

GEORGE.    Oh,  good! 

HESTER.  Go  and  get  the  car  ready,  while  I  put  on 
my  hat  and  coat.  The  garden's  the  quickest  way. 

GEORGE  (as  he  goes  out  by  the  windows  which 
JACK  opens  for  him) .  Right  you  are ! 

[HESTER   goes   out   by    the   door,   as  JACK 
closes  the  windows  behind  GEORGE.] 

JOHN.  That  girl  orders  George  about  as  if  she 
owned  him. 

JANET.    I  think  they're  very  suited  to  each  other. 

JOHN.    What's  that? 

JANET.  George  and  Hester!  I  think  they're  very 
suited  to  each  other. 

JOHN.    I  daresay,  but  George  oughtn't  to  think  of 


The  Ship  25 

marriage  for  a  long  time  yet.  He's  got  a  lot  of  work 
to  do  before  he  gets  married.  And  Hester's  young. 
She  can  wait. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  People  say  it's  better  to 
marry  young,  John. 

JOHN.  No,  it  isn't,  mother.  Marriage  makes  young 
men  timid  and  careful  just  when  their  adventurous 
quality  is  most  useful.  1  didn't  get  married  until  I 
was  .  .  .  What  age  was  I,  Janet? 

JANET.  Forty.  You  were  forty  and  I  was  twenty. 
I  sometimes  wish  you'd  been  younger,  John. 

JOHN.    Why? 

JANET.    Well!  .  .  .  Oh,  I  don't  know! 

JpHN.  Of  course  you  don't.  I  was  exactly  the 
right  age  for  you.  Every  man  ought  to  be  twenty 
years  older  than  his  wife.  If  he  doesn't  start  off  with 
that  advantage,  what  hope  has  he  of  keeping  her  in 
order?  If  I  had  married  when  I  was  George's  age,  I 
shouldn't  have  been  able  to  concentrate  my  mind  on 
my  work.  I  soon  realised  that,  and  so  I  put  marriage 
clean  out  of  my  thoughts  until  I  was  sure  of  my  posi- 
tion. Then  I  looked  around  and  I  saw  you,  Janet, 
and  my  mind  was  made  up  in  a  moment  {He  sits  on 
the  arm  of  her  chair  and  fondles  her.)  You  were 
very  young  and  pretty  and  timid  when  I  first  knew 
you. 

JANET  (all  aglow}.    Oh,  John,  I  wasn't  timid. 

JOHN.  Oh,  yes,  you  were!  That's  why  I  liked 
you.  You  remember,  don't  you,  mother,  how  I  came 
home  and  told  you  about  her  ? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.     I  do,  indeed.     You  said  to 


26  The  Ship 

me,  "Mother,  that  girl's  afraid  of  me.    I  shall  marry 
her." 

JOHN.  That's  right.  And  so  I  did.  And  I'm  not 
sorry. 

[He  kisses  JANET.  JACK  gets  up  and  goes 
towards  the  garden  during  this  speech. 
As  he  passes  the  chair  -where  his  parents 
are,  JOHN  catches  hold  of  him  by  the 
arm.] 

JOHN.    Well,  Jack? 

JACK.    Well,  father? 

JOHN.    You're  not  in  love,  I  hope. 

JACK.  No,  father.  (Then  with  an  effort.)  Father, 
I  want  to  say  something  to  you. 

JOHN  (getting  up).  Yes,  my  boy.  Shall  we  go 
upstairs  ? 

JACK.  I've  been  telling  granny  and  mother  about  it 
already. 

JOHN.  Oh !  You  haven't  been  getting  into  a  mess, 
have  you? 

JACK.    No,  father!  .  .  . 

JOHN.    Well,  you  look  damned  solemn !    What's  up? 

JACK.  You  know  what  I  think  of  things — what  you 
call  my  cranky  notions. 

JOHN  (with  comic  despair).    Oh,  yes,  indeed  I  do. 

JACK.  Well,  father,  I'm  serious  about  them.  I'm 
not  just  a  crank.  I've  thought  things  out,  and  I  ... 
I  want  to  leave  the  Yard. 

JOHN.    Leave  the  Yard !    What  do  you  mean? 

JACK.    I  want  to  leave  it  for  good. 

JOHN.    Oh!    And  may  I  ask  why? 


The  Ship  27 

JANET.  Jack  thinks  there's  something  wrong  with 
the  principle  of  the  Yard. 

JACK.  It  isn't  only  the  Yard,  father.  It's  the  whole 
mechanical  civilisation.  All  these  big  factories  and 
mills  and  workshops  are  all  wrong!  .  .  . 

JOHN.  Oh,  that  stuff  again!  I  thought  you'd  got 
over  that. 

JACK.  I  know  you  think  I'm  a  fool,  father.  You've 
never  taken  me  very  seriously,  but  I'm  in  earnest.  I 
hate  this  servitude  to  machines.  It's  degrading. 

JOHN.  I  don't  know  what  the  devil  you're  talking 
about.  Do  you  understand  him,  mother? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  I  understand  a  great  many 
things,  John,  of  which  I  do  not  approve. 

JOHN.    Well,  what  does  he  mean  ? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Jack's  a  reactionary!  .  .  . 

JACK.    No,  granny!  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Oh,  yes,  my  dear,  you  are. 
You  condemn  all  that  mankind  has  done  for  more 
than  a  century  because  you  don't  like  the  look  of  it. 
And  you've  persuaded  yourself  to  believe  that  a  man 
who  spends  his  life  ploughing  fields  is  somehow  en- 
joying a  better  life  than  a  man  in  a  factory.  Per- 
haps he  is,  although  I've  not  noticed  that  peasants  are 
any  more  noble-minded  than  other  people.  But,  my 
dear,  you're  making  a  very  great  mistake  if  you  think 
that  mankind  is  going  to  scrap  your  father's 
ships!  .  .  . 

JOHN.    Scrap  my  ships!  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (rebuking  him).  Hush, 
John!  I  am  speaking. 


28  The  Ship 

JOHN  (abashed).    I  beg  your  pardon,  mother! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  We've  got  to  g$>  on,  Jack.  It 
isn't  any  good  arguing  about  progress,  f^r  that  de-" 
pends  very  largely  on  the  person  who  is  making  it.  I 
daresay  most  of  us  mean  well,  but  I'm  old-fashioned 
enough  to  think  that  we  ought  to «leave  our  affairs  in 
the  hands  of  our  betters. 

JACK.    But  who  are  our  betters,  granny? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Those  who  prove  themselves 
to  be.  We  can't  all  be  great,  my  dear,  but  we  should 
try  to  recognise  those  who  are.  My  son  is  a  great 
man. 

JACK.  I  know  that,  granny,  but  a  man  can  be  great 
and  wrong  at  the  same  time.  You're  wrong,  father! 
All  the  people  who  make  men  less  than  machines  are 
wrong.  I'm  not  clever  enough  to  prove  it  to  you,  but 
can't  you  see  that  this  mania  for  bigness,  these  big 
cities,  big  engines,  and  big  empires  are  destroying 
human  beings.  We  can't  feed  ourselves  in  England 
now,  in  spite  of  our  progress,  and  when  the  next  war 
comes,  we'll  starve  to  death  in  the  midst  of  magnifi- 
cent machines. 

JOHN.  Wait  a  minute!  I  don't  quite  get  the  hang 
of  this.  Do  you  think  this  boat  is  all  wrong,  .as  ,you 
say? 

JACK.    Yes,  father! 

JOHN.     Oh!    And  why? 

JACK.  She's  a  luxury  ship.  All  your  improvements 
are  simply  to  provide  more  luxuries  for  the  passen- 
gers. Swimming-baths  and  theatres  and  cafes  and 
cinemas  and  libraries  and  daily  newspapers  and  ball- 


The  Ship  29 

rooms  and  magnificent  private  suites  for  millionaires. 
That's' all!  The  men  who  used  to  work  that  ship  (he 
Points  to  the  war-vessel)  were  sailors,  but  you've  abol- 
ished sailors,"  father,  and  put  swimming-bath  attend- 
ants in  their  place.  I  don't  call  it  progress  to  take  a 
decent  seaman  anc^turji  'him  into  a- waiter,  cadging 
for  tips. 

JANET.  I  don't  approve  of  the  tipping  system — no 
woman  does — but  I  don't  see  why  people  shouldn't 
be  comfortable  at  sea,  just  where  they  need  it  most. 

JACK.  Well,  that's  what  I  think.  It  doesn't  mat- 
te/ to  me  whether  the  "Magnificent"  is  the  swiftest 
and  most  comfortable  ship  in  the  world  if  the  men 
she  carries  aren't  worth  carrying.  I'm  for  men  against 
machines  from  this  on.  That's  what  I  mean,  father. 

JOHN.    I  see. 

JACK.    So  I'm  going  to  leave  the  Yard. 

JOHN.    Yes  ? 

JACK.'  And  try  to  discover  a  better  way  of  living. 
."  JOHN.  Oh,  yes ! 

JACK.  I  thought  perhaps  you'd  understand  my  point 
of  view,  father. 

JOHN  (with  rising  fury).  Your  point  of  view! 
Do  you  understand  mine? 

JACK.    I  try  to  understand  you,  father!  .  .  . 

JOHN.  Do  you  see  that  ship?  (He  points  to  the 
model  of  the  "Magnificent.")  She's  just  a  machine 
to  you — a  luxury-ship.  Eh?  That's  so,  isn't  it? 
Isn't  it? 

JACK.    Yes,  father. 

JOHN.     Do  you  know  what  she  is  to  tne?     No! 


30  The  Ship 

That  doesn't  occur  to  you.  You  can  stand  there  and 
.  .  .  and  insult  my  boat!  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    John,  dear ! 

JOHN.  No,  mother,  no.  (To  JACK.)  I  love  this 
boat.  My  whole  life  and  soul  have  gone  into  her.  And 
you  make  little  of  her,  call  her  a  luxury-ship,  a  ma- 
chine. But  she's  something  more  than  a  machine, 
Jack.  She's  a  living,  breathing  thing.  Why,  a  ship  is 
as  sensitive  as  a  young  girl.  And  this  beautiful  thing 
that  I've  made — my  God,  how  dare  you  insult  my  ship ! 

JACK.    I  have  a  right  to  my  opinions,  father. 

JOHN.  Your  opinions!  There  are  too  many  opin- 
ions in  the  world,  and  yours  isn't  much  better  than 
most  of  them.  On  your  own  ground  of  argument, 
my  boat  is  doing  a  great  work!  She's  helping  to 
make  people  friendly  by  bringing  them  together  and 
making  neighbours  of  them. 

JACK.  You  don't  make  people  friendly,  father,  just 
by  making  neighbours  of  them. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  We've  certainly  fought  more 
wars  with  France  than  we  have  with  Patagonia,  and 
I  sometimes  think  we  could  live  more  happily  with 
the  Irish  if  they  were  further  away. 

JOHN.  I  don't  understand  this  kind  of  talk.  It's 
enough  for  me  that  my  ships  are  good  ships.  You  in- 
tend to  leave  the  Yard,  Jack — to  have  nothing  more 
to  do  with  it? 

JACK.    Yes. 

JOHN.    And  when  I  die,  who's  going  to  carry  it  on? 

JACK.  Someone  else  will  have  to  do  that,  if  it's  to 
be  carried  on. 


The  Ship  31 

JOHN.  You  don't  see  my  point,  Jack.  A  Thurlow 
made  this  ship  and  made  the  Yard  where  she  was 
built.  A  Thurlow  raised  it  from  nothing  to  be  the 
greatest  shipyard  in  the  world.  We  have  a  name,  and 
I  made  that  name. 

JACK.    Yes,  father,  I  realise  that. 

JOHN.  I  want  that  name  maintained.  You  talk 
about  understanding  things.  Do  you  understand  the 
pride  I  had  in  creating  the  Yard,  and  my  desire  that 
my  son  and  my  son's  son  should  continue  it  and  make 
it  greater  than  I  made  it?  Do  you  understand  that? 
When  you  were  born,  the  first  thought  that  came  into 
my  head  was  that  you'd  build  ships  as  I'd  built  them. 
I  didn't  think  of  you  as  a  child:  I  thought  of  you  as 
a  shipbuilder — the  head  of  Thurlow's!  .  .  . 

JACK.    I've  never  wished  to  build  ships,  father. 

JOHN.  What  has  your  wish  got  to  do  with  it? 
You're  my  son  to  whom  I  pass  on  my  work  as  I  pass 
on  my  life. 

JACK*  But  I'm  not  only  your  son.  I'm  myself.  I 
have  a  right  to  my  own  life. 

JOHN.  No  one  has  any  right  to  his  life.  No  one  in 
the  world  has  a  right  to  his  life.  Haven't  you  learned 
that  yet?  What  do  you  want  to  do — if  you  leave  the 
Yard? 

JANET.    He  wants  to  buy  a  farm. 

JOHN.    A  farm! 

JACK.  Yes,  father.  I  want  to  go  on  the  land  with 
a  friend  of  mine. 

JOHN.  And  you  want  me  to  give  you  the  money 
for  it,  eh? 


32  The  Ship 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  He  hasn't  any  of  his  own, 
John. 

JOHN.  No.  NO.  Not  one  half-penny!  You've 
got  to  come  back  to  the  Yard,  Jack. 

JACK.    I  can't,  father. 

JOHN.    You've  got  to,  my  boy. 

JACK.    Won't  George  do? 

JOHN.    You're  my  son.    George  isn't.    I  want  you. 

JACK.    Is  that  why  ?    Because  I'm  your  son. 

JOHN.     Yes. 

JACK.    Then  I  won't  go  back. 

JOHN.    You'll  do  what  I  tell  you. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Is  that  wise,  John? 

JOHN.  I  don't  care  whether  it  is  or  not.  I  will 
have  a  Thurlow  at  the  head  of  Thurlow's. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  It's  foolish,  my  dear,  to  force 
the  right  opinions  on  the  wrong  people. 

[The  door  opens,  and  HESTER  enters. 

HESTER.  Father,  do  come  for  a  drive.  George's 
got  the  car  at  the  door,  and  he  wants  to  say  some- 
thing to  you. 

JOHN.    Why  can't  he  come  here  and  say  it? 

HESTER.  Well,  he  thinks  he'll  feel  more  confident 
in  the  open  air.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  daddy,  he  wants 
to  marry  me. 

JOHN.    Then  tell  him  the  answer's  "No." 

HESTER.  Don't  be  silly,  father!  I've  just  told  him 
that  it's  "Yes."  Come  and  cheer  him  up.  He  looks 
frightfully  miserable. 


The  Ship  33 

JANET.  If  you  hadn't  prevented  him  from  having 
his  tea,  John,  this  wouldn't  have  happened. 

HESTER.  Oh,  yes,  it  would,  mother.  Come  along, 
daddy ! 

[She  goes  out. 

JOHN.  Jack,  my  boy,  don't  let's  quarrel.  You  see, 
you're  my  son,  and  I  ...  I  love  you.  That's  why 
George  won't  do.  (He  goes  out.) 

JACK.  I  can't  stand  up  to  him,  granny!  I  can't 
stand  up  to  him. 

JANET.    Then  why  try? 

JACK.  I  must  think  for  myself,  mother.  I  can't 
stay  here  and  be  dominated  like  this. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  It's  very  wrong  to  make  peo- 
ple do  things  they  don't  want  to  do,  even  when  those 
things  are  right.  Very  wrong.  I've  always  believed 
that  if  a  man  wanted  to  go  to  hell  and  were  com- 
pelled to  go  to  heaven,  he'd  end  by  turning  heaven 
into  hell.  Very  wrong!  Very  wrong!  Your  views, 
Jack,  are  rather  silly,  but  no  one  can  make  you  realise 
how  silly  they  are  so  well  as  you  can.  It's  a  pity  you 
don't  like  ships  .  .  .  very  beautiful  things,  ships  .  .  . 
but  since  you  don't  and  your  father  won't  give  you  the 
money  to  buy  your  farm,  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to 
give  it  to  you. 

JACK  (eagerly}.    You  will,  granny? 

JANET.  My  dear,  you  mustn't.  John  will  be  very 
angry. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  I'm  too  old  now  to  mind 
whether  people  are  angry  with  me  or  not.  I  spent  most 
of  my  life  in  helping  John  to  get  his  desire.  I  think 


34  The  Ship 

I  must  spend  the  rest  of  it  in  helping  Jack  to  get  his. 
That's  the  chief  thing,  isn't  it,  to  get  your  desire,  even 
when  it  disappoints  you. 

JACK  (kneeling  beside  her).    Granny,  dear! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (patting  him  gently).  My 
poor  little  boy! 


ACT  TWO 


THE  SECOND  ACT 

The  scene  is  laid  in  what  was  formerly  the  kitchen  of 
a  comfortable  farmhouse:  a  large,  airy,  well-lit 
room  now  chiefly  used  as  a  combined  sitting-  and 
dining-room.  It  is  furnished  in  the  bare,  austere 
and  self-conscious  fashion  which  is  characteristic 
of  the  various  Peasant  Crafts  societies  and  or- 
ganisations for  the  revival  of  medievalism  in  rural 
districts.  There  is  the  maximum  of  artistic  oddity 
and  the  minimum  of  comfort,  for  the  designer  of 
the  furniture  was  obsessed  by  the  idea  that  peas- 
ants, when  they  made  things  in  a  clumsy,  ineffi- 
cient manner,  did  so,  not  because  they  were  inex- 
pert, but  to  express  some  deeply-felt,  though  not 
clearly-articulated,  theory  about  art.  The  tables 
and  chairs  are  not  polished  or  stained  in  any  way. 
The  plain,  unvarnished  wood,  like  the  plain,  un- 
varnished truth  (about  which  we  hear  so  much, 
of  which  we  hear  so  little)  is  good  enough  for  the 
Peasant  Crafts  societies.  The  floor  is  uncarpeted, 
the  only  concession  to  the  mollycoddled  being  an 
occasional  mat.  The  curtains  have  stencilled  de- 
signs on  them,  and  are  quite  pretty. 

The  time  is  five  months  after  the  date  of  the  first 
act,  and  the  signs  of  spring  can  be  seen  through 
the  windows  and  the  door  when  it  is  opened. 
37 


38  The  Ship 

The  day  is  Sunday,  and  the  work  of  the  farm, 
therefore,  is  more  or  less  at  a  standstill.  That 
is  why  JACK  THURLOW  is  able  to  sit  at  a  small 
writing-table  in  one  of  the  windows,  smoking  a 
pipe  as  he  composes  a  letter.  He  is  dressed 
in  a  brown  corduroy  suit,  and  wears  brown  gai- 
ters above  his  thick-soled  brown  boots.  His  shirt 
is  khaki-colored,  and  it  is  open  at  the  throat,  thus 
relieving  him  of  the  necessity  of  wearing  a  neck- 
tie. He  looks  healthy  and  tanned,  which  is  ex- 
actly how  he  ought  to  look,  for  he  has  spent  most 
of  the  past  five  months  in  the  open-air.  He  has 
rather  more  confidence  in  himself  now  than  he 
had  in  the  first  act,  and  he  is  certainly  happy.  He 
writes  a  few  words,  then  picks  up  the  letter  and, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  reads  it  through. 

A  clock  in  the  room  strikes  three. 

Then  the  door  opens,  and  CAPTAIN  JAMES  CORNELIUS 
enters  from  the  garden.  CORNELIUS  is  eight  years 
older  than  JACK  but  his  manner  is  less  serious, 
more  casual,  and  he  might  pardonably  be  con- 
sidered the  younger  of  the  two  men  were  it  not 
for  the  look  of  knowledge  in  his  eyes.  Although 
his  manner  is  less  serious  than  that  of  JACK, 
it  is  in  many  ways  more  definite  and  author- 
itative. He  has  not  commanded  a  company  in 
France  without  obtaining  the  airs  of  a  man  used 
to  being  obeyed  without  argument.  The  authority 
in  his  tone,  however,  is  more  than  counterbalanced 
by  the  lack  of  hope  in  his  heart.  Chiefly,  he  feels 
that  there  is  very  little  use  in  striving  for  any- 


The  Ship  39 

•  thing  —  for  even  if  the  desired  object  is  obtained  it 
probably  not  be  worth  having. 


JACK.    Finished  ? 

CORNELIUS.  Yes.  (Seating  himself.}  I  suppose 
your  people  will  be  here  soon? 

JACK.     Mother  said  they'd  arrive  about  three. 

CORNELIUS.    How  many  are  coming? 

JACK.  The  whole  lot.  My  grandmother  —  you'll 
like  her,  Corney.  She's  a  darling  —  and  my  father  and 
mother  —  you've  met  my  mother,  haven't  you? 

CORNELIUS.    Yes.     Anybody  else? 

JACK.  My  sister  and  the  man  she's  engaged  to. 
They're  going  to  be  married  soon.  His  name's  Nor- 
wood —  George  Norwood  —  a  very  clever  fellow.  I'm. 
glad  he's  going  to  marry  Hester.  He's  so  keen  on* 
shipbuilding  that  father'll  probably  become  reconciled 
to  my  refusal  to  go  into  the  Yard. 

CORNELIUS.  I  hope  your  old  man  will  be  civil  to 
us.  I've  got  a  hell  of  a  wind  up  about  him  coming 
here. 

JACK.     Why? 

CORNELIUS.  Well,  he  doesn't  like  you  being  a 
farmer,  and  he's  sure  to  think  it's  my  fault.  People 
always  think  I'm  to  blame  for  anything  that  goes 
wrong.  The  C.  O.  of  my  battalion  used  to  blame  me 
if  the  Boche  broke  through. 

JACK.  You  needn't  worry  about  father.  He's  a 
great  chap;  domineering,  of  course,  but  he's  a  great 
chap.  I'm  very  fond  of  my  father. 

CORNELIUS.    That's  damned  funny,  isn't  it?    What 


40  The  Ship 

I  can't  understand  about  you  is  your  choosing  to  live 
like  a  farm  laborer,  messing  about  with  cows  and 
hens,  when  you  might  be  the  head  of  the  biggest  ship- 
yard in  the  world. 

JACK.  My  dear  Corney,  I've  explained  myself  to 
you  dozens  of  times. 

CORNELIUS.  Yes,  I  know  you  have,  and  I  don't 
want  you  to  do  it  again.  But  merely  telling  me  why 
you  do  a  thing,  doesn't  explain  it.  The  only  conclu- 
sion I  can  come  to  about  you,  Jack,  is  that  you're  off 
your  head.  QACK  laughs  good-naturedly.)  No,  but 
seriously,  old  chap,  I'm  not  joking — I  think  you're 
potty.  Do  you  think  I'd  spend  my  time  looking  after 
a  lot  of  damned  cows  if  I  could  get  the  job  you've 
chucked?  Good  Lord,  no!  Cows  are  such  silly  fools, 
to  start  off  with.  They  look  at  you  in  a  sloppy,  re- 
proachful way,  and  suspect  you  of  evil  intentions. 
And  then  you  have  to  get  up  and  milk  them  at  a  ridic- 
ulous hour  of  the  morning.  I  can't  think  why  Noah 
let  'em  in  the  Ark.  They'd  much  better  have  been 
drowned. 

JACK.    Don't  grouse,  Corney. 

CORNELIUS.  I'm  not  grousing,  Jack.  I'm  bewil- 
dered. Here  have  we  been  working  like  niggers  for 
four  months,  getting  very  little  for  it,  and  you  go 
about  like  John  the  Baptist — as  if  you've  heard  a  voice 
from  heaven  telling  you  to  milk  cows.  (He  gets  up 
and  looks  about  the  room  for  a  moment  or  two.)  I 
say  where's  the  whisky? 

JACK  (awkwardly'}.  Oh,  I  put  it  away.  Do  you 
want  some? 

CORNELIUS.    Yes,  I'd  like  a  tot.    Where  is  it? 


The  Ship  41 

JACK.    I  put  it  in  the  pantry. 

CORNELIUS.  That  was  silly  of  you.  I've  got  to  go 
and  fetch  it  back  again. 

JACK  (as  CORNELIUS  goes  towards  the  pantry 
door) .  Corney,  I  ...  I'm  not  preaching  or  anything, 
but  do  you  really  want  it? 

CORNELIUS.  Yes.  I  shouldn't  ask  for  it,  if  I  didn't 
want  it.  Why? 

JACK.  Oh,  nothing!  Only  you've  had  three  drinks 
this  morning  already. 

CORNELIUS.    Have  I? 

JACK.    Yes. 

CORNELIUS.  You're  jolly  good  at  arithmetic,  Jack. 
I  didn't  think  I'd  had  as  many  as  that. 

JACK.  I  don't  want  you  to  imagine  that  I'm  trying 
to  interfere  with  you!  .  .  . 

CORNELIUS.    No,  no,  of  course  not. 

JACK.  Only,  it  doesn't  do  you  any  good,  Corney, 
not  the  amount  you  take. 

CORNELIUS.  No,  I  suppose  it  doesn't.  It's  habit( 
you  know  !  That's  all !  We  used  to  drink  a  lot  during 
the  War,  what  with  hospitality  and  feeling  fed-up  and 
trying  to  keep  our  courage  going. 

JACK.    Your  courage? 

CORNELIUS.  Yes.  I  was  twenty  when  I  went  out 
to  France  for  the  first  time,  and  chaps  my  age  couldn't 
stand  shell-fire  so  well  as  the  older  ones  could.  I  used 
to  be  horribly  afraid  I'd  turn  funky  in  front  of  the 
men — a  lot  of  youngsters  felt  like  that — and  so  we 
used  to  take  a  tot  to  keep  our  courage  up.  See? 

JACK.    Yes. 

CORNELIUS.    Then  a  tot  wasn't  enough,  and  after  a 


42  The  Ship 

while  we  had  to  be  half-drunk  before  we  could  go 
through  with  the  job.  I  know  youngsters  who  went 
wrong  through  trying  to  keep  their  courage  up  like 
that — drunkards,  poor  devils!  I  didn't  realise  that  I 
was  going  the  same  way !  Thanks  very  much,  Jack, 
for  telling  me  about  it. 

JACK.  That's  all  right,  old  chap.  I  meant  to  say 
something  before  this,  only  I  thought  you  might  think 
I  was  preaching  to  you.  It's  an  awkward  thing  to  talk 
about,  even  to  a  friend. 

CORNELIUS.  Yes.  Yes,  it  is.  Jolly  awkward! 
(He  goes  back  to  his  seat.)  How  long  do  you  think 
it'll  be  before  we  make  any  profit  out  of  this  cow 
business  ? 

JACK.  I  don't  know.  We  may  clear  our  expenses 
by  the  end  of  the  year. 

CORNELIUS.    Good  God! 

JACK.  It's  slow,  of  course,  but  after  all  our  wants 
are  simple. 

CORNELIUS.  They'd  have  to  be,  wouldn't  they? 
Why,  it  was  much  more  profitable  fighting  the  old 
Boche. 

JACK.    You're  always  talking  about  profit. 

CORNELIUS.  Well,  of  course,  I  am.  The  only  thing 
that  reconciles  me  to  associating  with  cows  is  the 
profit  I  think  I'm  going  to  make  out  of  'em.  This 
chair's  damned  uncomfortable!  .  .  .  (Goes  to  another 
one. )  I  don't  think  there's  much  in  farming,  you  know 
— not  this  sort  anyhow — sheep-farming  perhaps!  .  .  . 
I  say,  Jack,  let's  go  to  Australia. 

JACK.    I'm  quite  happy  here,  Corney. 


The  Ship  43 

CORNELIUS.     Yes,  you're  very  easily  made  happy. 
Do  you  know,  I  don't  think  another  tot  would  do  me 
any  harm?     (Going  towards  the  pantry.) 
JACK  (coldly).    Very  well. 
CORNELIUS.    It's  in  here,  isn't  it? 
JACK.    Yes. 

CORNELIUS.  Only  just  a  tot,  you  know!  That's 
all!  (He  goes  into  the  pantry.) 

[JACK  bends  over  his  letter  again,  and  pres- 
ently CORNELIUS,  carrying  the  whisky- 
bottle  and  a  tumbler,  returns.] 
CORNELIUS.     Have  some,  Jack?     (As  he  pours  a 
good  stiff  tot  into  the  tumbler.) 
JACK.    No,  thanks ! 

CORNELIUS.  I  thought  you  wouldn't,  so  I  didn't 
bring  a  glass  for  you.  (He  squirts  soda  into  the 
glass.)  Well,  cheerio,  Jack ! 

[The  noise  of  a  motor-car  is  heard  outside. 
JACK.    Here  they  are! 

CORNELIUS.  Oh,  God!  (Gulps  down  the  whisky.) 
[JACK  goes  out.  CORNELIUS  having  finished 
his  whisky,  stands  in  an  irresolute 
manner  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
goes  towards  the  door  through  which 
JACK  has  just  gone.  Before  he  can 
reach  it,  however,  JACK  returns  with 
OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  on  his  arm.  COR- 
NELIUS goes  back  to  the  centre  of  the 
room.} 

JACK  (pausing  in  the  doorway  to  call  to  Janet,  not 
yet  visible).  This  way,  mother.  (To  OLD  MRS. 


44  The  Ship 

THURLOW,  as  they  enter.)    This  is  Captain  Cornelius, 
granny. 

OLD   MRS.   THURLOW    (shaking   hands  with  COR- 
NELIUS).   How  do  you  do,  Captain  Cornelius? 

CORNELIUS.  Quite  well,  thank  you.  Won't  you  sit 
down? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (seating  herself).  Thank 
you.  I've  often  heard  about  you  from  Jack. 

CORNELIUS.  Yes,  he's  a  great  chap  for  writing  let- 
ters, old  Jack. 

[JANET  appears  in  the  doorway. 

JANET.     Is  this  it? 

JACK.  Yes,  mother.  (Meeting  her  and  bringing  her 
forward.)  You  know  Cornelius,  don't  you? 

JANET  (greeting  CORNELIUS).  Oh,  yes,  I  know 
Captain  Cornelius.  We  met  in  Biggport,  didn't  we? 
Jack,  dear,  your  father  is  swearing  terribly  over  that 
car.  Go  and  help  him. 

JACK.    Very  well,  mother. 

JANET.  And  be  tactful,  darling.  Agree  with  every- 
thing he  says,  even  if  you  don't.  He's  not  been  very 
well  lately. 

JACK.    All  right,  mother.     (Exit.) 

JANET.  I  always  think  such  a  lot  can  be  done  with 
tact.  Don't  you,  Captain  Cornelius? 

CORNELIUS.    Oh,  yes !    Yes,  of  course !    Quite ! 

JANET.  Neither  my  husband  nor  my  son  are  at  all 
tactful  and  that  makes  things  very  awkward.  (To 
OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.)  What  a  nice  farm  this  is, 
mother!  So  agricultural! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Do  you  like  farming,  Cap- 
tain Cornelius? 


The  Ship  45 

CORNELIUS.  Oh,  yes.  It's  all  right,  you  know.  I 
mean  to  say,  if  you  can't  get  anything  better!  .  .  . 

[JOHN  THURLOW  enters,  followed  by  JACK. 

JACK.    This  is  Cornelius,  father. 

JOHN.    How  do  you  do? 

CORNELIUS.  Quite  well,  thank  you.  Jolly  sort  of 
weather,  isn't  it? 

JOHN.  Quite.  (Gases  about  him.  There  is  a  pause 
for  a  moment.} 

CORNELIUS.    Would  you  like  a  tot,  sir? 

JOHN.    Tot? 

CORNELIUS.    Yes,  a  tot  of  whisky,  sir. 

JOHN.  No,  thanks!  What's  happened  to  George 
and  Hester? 

JANET.  I  think  they've  had  tyre  trouble  on  the 
road,  John.  (To  JACK.)  George's  bought  a  lovely 
little  two-seater. 

JOHN.  It's  a  most  extraordinary  thing,  but  when- 
ever we  go  out  motoring  with  that  couple,  they  always 
have  tyre  trouble  and  get  left  behind. 

JACK.  Why  didn't  they  come  in  your  car,  father? 
There  was  plenty  of  room. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Jack  dear,  I  thought  you'd 
retired  to  the  country  in  order  to  study  people  and  dis- 
cover the  meaning  of  life. 

JACK.    Yes,  granny? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  You  don't  appear  to  have 
discovered  much. 

JOHN.  Do  you  mean  to  say  they  have  this  tyre 
trouble  on  purpose? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Of  course  they  do.  I 
shouldn't  think  much  of  George  if  they  didn't. 


46  The  Ship 

JOHN.  Well,  I  think  it's  very  silly.  Janet  and  I 
never  had  any  tyre  trouble  when  we  were  engaged. 

JANET.  No,  dear,  and  we  hadn't  got  a  motor-car 
either.  We  had  to  content  ourselves  with  bicycles,  and 
being  engaged  on  a  bicycle  is  very  agitating.  (To 
JACK.)  They've  fixed  the  date  of  their  marriage,  and 
it's  to  be  almost  immediately.  Your  father  was 
against  it,  of  course,  but  Hester  said  she'd  go  into  a 
decline  or  run  away  or  something  if  he  didn't  con- 
sent, so  he  gave  in.  Hester's  a  very  determined  girl. 

JOHN.  It  wasn't  Hester  who  made  me  consent.  It 
was  my  mother,  who  gave  me  the  only  sensible  reason 
for  consenting  that  was  offered  to  me.  Hester's  de- 
termination had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.  It 
was  my  determination.  Wasn't  it,  mother? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (smiling).  Yes,  my  dear. 
You  always  get  your  own  way. 

JANET.  I  suspect  you  find  this  sort  of  life  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  army,  Captain  Cornelius. 

CORNELIUS.  Yes,  it  is  a  bit,  but  not  so  much  as 
you'd  think.  There's  a  lot  of  digging,  of  course,  and 
when  I'm  out  early,  I  always  feel  as  if  it  were  "stand- 
to."  Only  this  morning,  when  I  heard  a  lark  singing 
in  the 'meadow  just  outside,  I  found  myself  thinking 
of  something  that  happened  to  me  once  in  the  line — 
a  queer  sort  of  thing.  It'll  sound  a  bit  sloppy,  I  ex- 
pect, to  you,  but  it  was  one  of  those  funny  little  things 
— nothing  in  them,  you  know — but  they  get  you  .  .  . 
see?  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Yes? 

CORNELIUS.     It's   nothing  much  really,  but  once, 


The  Ship  47 

when  my  company  was  in  the  line  and  having  a  thin 
time,  this  thing  happened.  The  old  Boche  was  strafing 
hard  every  two  hours,  and  he  did  that  for  three  days. 
We  knew  what  was  up,  of  course — he  was  going  to 
raid  us,  and  wanted  to  frighten  the  wits  out  of  us  first. 
And  he  did  raid  us !  It  was  about  half -past  two  in  the 
morning — rotten  time  to  raid  anybody — and  just  be- 
fore he  came  over,  he  gave  us  a  terrific  barrage.  We 
retaliated,  and  there  was  a  frightful  row  going  on.  I 
was  standing  just  in  front  of  a  dug-out  in  a  sunken 
road,  waiting  for  the  barrage  to  lift,  and  I  could  see 
the  Boche  stuff  going  over  into  a  field.  It  was  a  jolly 
fine  sight,  too — old  Fritz  was  very  good  at  artillery, 
jolly  good  he  was — great  clouds  of  golden  sparks  fly- 
ing about  and  thick  black  smoke — I  should  have  en- 
joyed watching  it  if  it  had  been  a  bit  further  off! 
There  was  an  awful  row  going  on — our  guns  and 
their  guns  clattering  away  like  the  deuce — and  then 
suddenly  it  stopped.  That  sometimes  happened — dur- 
ing a  bombardment,  all  the  guns  would  be  silent  at  the 
same  time  just  for  a  moment  or  two — awful  uncanny 
sort  of  silence,  really.  Well,  that  happened  then!  A 
fearful  banging  and  exploding  all  round  you,  and 
then  suddenly,  dead  silence,  just  for  a  moment.  And 
in  that  moment,  I  heard  a  lark  singing !  You  know — 
just  going  up  and  .  .  .  singing!  Well,  I  nearly  cried. 
It  was  so  decent!  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Yes,  my  dear,  that's  what  it 
was — it  was  decent! 

CORNELIUS.  It  kept  one  going,  you  know.  You 
thought  to  yourself  "Well,  everything  isn't  rotten!" 


48  The  Ship 

And  then  the  guns  started  again,  and  the  row,  and  after 
a  while  the  barrage  lifted,  and  the  Boche  came  over  in 
a  funk,  and  we  were  in  a  worse  funk,  and  there  was 
a  filthy  mess.  But  I  forgot  all  about  the  mess  some- 
how. I  kept  on  thinking  about  that  lark,  singing  as 
if  there  weren't  any  war.  And  when  I  heard  the  other 
one  this  morning,  I  thought  of  that  time  I'd  listened 
to  another  lark,  and  without  thinking  what  I  was  say- 
ing, I  shouted  out  to  him,  "Hillo,  old  chap,  at  it 
again !"  Awfully  sloppy,  really !  .  .  . 

[The  noise  of  a  motor-car  is  heard  outside. 

JANET.  There  they  are.  I  expect  they've  got  over 
their  tyre  trouble.  Come  and  be  introduced,  Captain 
Cornelius. 

CORNELIUS.  Right  you  are,  Mrs.  Thurlow!  (They 
go  out.) 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Captain  Cornelius  seems  a 
nice  sort  of  man.  I  suppose  you  and  he  are  very 
good  friends,  Jack? 

JACK.  Yes,  we're  very  good  friends.  He  doesn't 
quite  see  things  from  my  point  of  view. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Doesn't  he? 

JACK.  No.  He's  always  talking  about  profit.  I 
don't  mean  that  he's  a  money-grubber — he  isn't — but 
he  thinks  of  this  farm  merely  as  a  means  of  making 
money. 

JOHN.    Doesn't  everybody  do  that? 

JACK.  I  suppose  most  people  do,  but  I  think  a  man 
ought  to  put  the  pleasure  he  gets  out  of  his  work  first, 
and  the  profit  second. 

JOHN.    What  I  can't  understand  about  you  idealists 


The  Ship  49 

and  back-to-the-landers  is  that  you  always  talk  like 
cheap  society  women.  Give  me  pleasure!  Give  me 
pleasure ! !  Give  me  pleasure ! ! !  I  see  no  reason  why 
a  man's  job  should  provide  him  with  entertainment. 
All  work,  whatever  it  is,  is  either  a  punishment  or  a 
mania!  I  build  ships  because  I  have  a  craving  to 
build  ships.  My  work  gives  me  pain  and  power  and 
pride,  but  it  doesn't  give  me  pleasure.  I  get  that  out 
of  golf. 

JACK.    I  get  pleasure  out  of  my  work. 
JOHN.    So  you  think! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Well,  dear,  if  he  thinks  he 
gets  it,  that's  almost  as  good  as  getting  it.     My  ex- 
perience has  been  that  we  pay  for  every  moment  of 
pleasure  with  a  moment  of  pain. 
JACK.    Isn't  that  a  very  dismal  doctrine,  granny  ? 
OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    No,  my  dear,  because  even  in 
the  pain,  we  always  have  some  recollection  of  the 
pleasure.     Do  you  think  Captain  Cornelius  will  con- 
tinue to  work  here,  Jack? 

JACK.  He  can't  very  well  help  himself.  He  hasn't 
any  means  apart  from  this  farm. 

JOHN.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  your  grandmother,  he 
wouldn't  have  been  able  to  come  here  at  all.  I  haven't 
forgiven  you  yet,  mother,  for  giving  Jack  the  money 
for  this  place. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    You  were  very  naughty  and 

tyrannical,  John.     I  had  to  teach  you  a  lesson.     I've 

had  a  lot  of  trouble  with  you  lately,  both  about  Jack 

and  about  Hester. 

JOHN.    But  you  got  your  way,  as  usual.     I  don't 


50  The  Ship 

mind  admitting  that,   now   there's  nobody  here  but 
Jack. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  It's  very  nice  to  get  your 
way.  Very  nice ! 

JACK.  I  suppose  the  "Magnificent"  is  nearly  ready 
for  her  trial  trip,  father. 

JOHN.    She  won't  be  long  now. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Your  father's  not  been  at  all 
well  lately,  Jack.  Dr.  Jordan  says  he's  been  working 
too  hard. 

JOHN.    Oh,  Jordan's  an  old  woman. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (laughing).     So  am  I,  dear. 

JOHN.  Yes,  but  not  that  sort  of  old  woman.  The 
kind  of  old  woman  I  mean  is  generally  a  man.  I  sup- 
pose you  never  think  of  coming  back  to  the  Yard, 
Jack? 

JACK.     No,  father.    I'm  very  happy  here. 

[JANET  followed  by  HESTER,  GEORGE  NOR- 
WOOD and  CORNELIUS  in  that  order,  re- 
turns.] 

JANET.  Captain  Cornelius  has  been  showing  us  the 
cows  and  chickens,  and  Hester's  made  George  promise 
to  buy  her  a  cow  when  they're  married. 

GEORGE.  I  can't  think  what  you  want  a  cow  for 
when  you've  got  a  motor-car. 

JANET.  Oh,  I  always  think  a  cow's  such  a  nice 
thing  to  have  about  the  house. 

HESTER.  Besides  we'll  be  able  to  have  our  own  but- 
ter and  cream  and  milk. 

GEORGE.  Yes,  but  who's  going  to  milk  the  cow? 
Me,  I  suppose. 


The  Ship  51 

CORNELIUS.  It's  not  so  easy  to  lose  your  temper 
with  a  dairy  as  it  is  with  a  cow.  I  say,  would  anyone 
like  a  tot? 

[He  flourishes  the  whisky-bottle.  General 
murmurs  of  "No,  thanks."  Everyone, 
except  CORNELIUS,  is  now  seated.] 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  You  don't  seem  very  fond 
of  farming,  Captain  Cornelius? 

JOHN.    You'd  rather  be  doing  bigger  work,  eh? 

CORNELIUS.  I  don't  know!  It's  not  easy  to  find 
bigger  work.  If  you  tell  people  you  fought  in  the 
War,  they  use  it  as  evidence  against  you.  They 
think  you  must  be  an  idiot  because  you  didn't  get  a 
soft  job  in  a  Government  office.  Farming's  better 
than  nothing,  of  course. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  I'd  like  to  see  over  the  farm. 
Won't  you  show  it  to  me,  Jack? 

JACK.  Certainly,  granny!  (Offering  his  arm  to 
her.)  You  will  all  come,  won't  you? 

HESTER.  Rather!  Come  along,  George.  (HESTER 
and  GEORGE  go  out.) 

JACK.     Corney,  will  you  bring  mother? 

CORNELIUS.    I'd  love  to. 

[OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  and  JACK  go  out. 

JOHN.  Janet,  you  go  along  with  Jack.  I've  changed 
my  mind,  Cornelius — I  will  have  a  tot  of  that  whisky. 
You  and  I'll  have  one  together,  eh?  We'll  catch  you 
up,  Janet. 

CORNELIUS.     Oh,  but  Mrs.  Thurlow!  .  .  . 

JANET.  Don't  bother  about  me,  Captain  Cornelius. 
I'll  be  quite  all  right  with  the  others.  (Exit.) 


52  The  Ship 

[CORNELIUS  fetches  the  whisky-bottle  to  the 
table  where  JOHN  THURLOW  is  now  sit- 
ting with  his  back  to  the  door  and  win- 
dows.] 

CORNELIUS  (pouring  out  the  whisky).  Say  when, 
sir! 

JOHN  (when  enough  has  been  poured  out). 
Thanks ! 

CORNELIUS.    Soda  ? 

JOHN.  Thank  you!  (CORNELIUS  pours  a  little  of 
the  soda  into  the  glass.)  Good  heavens,  man,  it's 
nearly  neat! 

CORNELIUS  (holding  up  the  glass  and  examining 
it).  Neat!  There's  no  such  thing  as  neat  whisky 
nowadays!  If  you  have  any  more  soda,  it'll  taste 
like  buttermilk. 

JOHN.    Well,  I  like  buttermilk.    Fill  it  up ! 

[CORNELIUS  does  so,  and  then  pours  out  a 
stiff  whisky,  with  very  little  soda  in  it, 
for  himself.] 

JOHN.  You  take  a  pretty  stiff  glass,  Cornelius. 
There's  half  a  tumbler  of  raw  whisky  there! 

CORNELIUS    (raising  his  glass).     Here's  luck,  sir! 
JOHN  (raising  his).    Thank  you.    Same  to  you! 

[They    drink.      CORNELIUS    almost    empties 

his  glass.] 

JOHN  (putting  his  glass  down  and  taking  out  his 
pipe).  So  you're  not  very  keen  on  farming,  Cor- 
nelius ? 

CORNELIUS.    No,  I'm  not  keen!  .  .  . 
JOHN.    What  made  you  take  it  up  ? 
CORNELIUS.     Well,  mostly  it  was  Jack.     I  was  in 


The  Ship  53 

France  when  he  was  there,  doing  a  job,  and  he  talked 
a  lot  of  stuff  about  leading  a  natural  life  that  didn't 
interest  me  very  much.  I'd  had  rather  more  than  my 
share  of  the  open-air,  and  I  was  looking  forward  to  a 
long,  comfortable,  fuggy  life.  But  when  he  began 
to  talk  about  farming — well,  I'd  done  some  digging, 
you  know,  and  I  thought  I  might  as  well  do  that  as 
anything  else. 

JOHN.  Do  you  see  any  prospect  of  success  in  this 
business  ? 

CORNELIUS.  It  depends  on  what  you  mean  by  suc- 
cess. There  isn't  a  great  fortune  in  it,  but  I  daresay 
there's  a  decent  living,  once  you've  got  going.  Of 
course,  it's  slow. 

JOHN.    Is  Jack  content  with  it? 

CORNELIUS.  Oh,  quite !  I  sometimes  think  he'd  be 
annoyed  if  it  were  a  financial  success. 

JOHN.  That's  nonsense.  He  couldn't  carry  on  if 
it  didn't  pay. 

CORNELIUS.  No,  I  know  that.  But  he'll  be  content 
so  long  as  he  can  keep  himself  out  of  it.  Jack's  very 
clever,  of  course,  but  he  hasn't  any  common  sense. 
I've  seen  fellows  like  him  in  the  War.  They  nearly 
always  got  a  posthumous  V.  C.  If  they  didn't  get  the 
Victoria  Cross,  they  were  dead  certain  to  get  the 
wooden  one.  I've  no  ambition  of  that  sort.  All  I 
want  is  a  reasonably  decent  time.  I  don't  want  to  in- 
fluence anybody  or  to  improve  anyone's  mind,  the  way 
Jack  does,  and  I  don't  want  a  terrific  amount  of  re- 
sponsibility. I  just  want  a  good  time.  That's  all.  It 
isn't  much! 

JOHN.    What  do  you  mean  by  a  good  time? 


54  The  Ship 

CORNELIUS.  Well,  enough  money  not  to  have  to 
bother  about  things,  and  not  too  much  work.  (Fin- 
ishes his  whisky.)  Have  another,  sir? 

JOHN.  No,  thanks!  I  haven't  finished  this.  But 
don't  let  me  prevent  you  from  having  one.  (COR- 
NELIUS helps  himself  to  a  second  glass  of  whisky.) 
You'll  have  trouble  in  getting  a  job  where  there's 
plenty  of  money  and  little  work. 

CORNELIUS.    Yes,  I've  noticed  that. 

JOHN.  H'm!  And  you  don't  see  any  likelihood  of 
getting  a  reasonably  decent  time  on  this  farm,  eh? 

CORNELIUS.  As  far  as  I  can  see,  I'm  in  for  a  lot 
of  work  and  very  little  money.  I  asked  Jack,  just  be- 
fore you  came,  when  he  thought  we'd  begin  to  make 
a  profit,  and  he  said  we  might  clear  our  expenses  by 
the  end  of  the  year.  That's  damned  encouraging, 
isn't  it?  • 

JOHN.  Aren't  you  a  bit  indiscreet  in  telling  people 
you  want  a  soft  job? 

CORNELIUS.  I  suppose  I  am,  but  I'm  not  going  to 
make  any  pretence  about  it.  Anyhow,  you  can't  give 
me  a  soft  job,  so  there's  no  good  my  trying  to  humbug 
you.  I  couldn't  build  a  ship  to  save  my  life.  Was 
Jack  any  good  at  it? 

JOHN.    He  was  pretty  good,  as  far  as  he'd  gone. 

CORNELIUS.  Mind  you,  Mr.  Thurlow,  I  don't  advo- 
cate soft  jobs  for  everybody.  No!  Only  for  people 
who  went  to  the  War.  That's  all !  You  see,  we 
chaps  had  our  experience  of  life  crowded  into  less 
time  than  most  people.  See?  (He  is  now  slightly 
drunk.)  It  took  you  about  twenty-five  years  to  learn 


The  Ship  55 

what  we  had  to  learn  in  four  years.  See  ?  Well,  there 
ought  to  be  some  compensation  for  that,  oughtn't 
there?  And  I  think  the  compensation  should  be  a 
good  time.  That's  what  I'm  out  for,  as  comfortable 
and  easy  a  time  as  possible.  A  cushy  life — that's  what 
I  want. 

JOHN  (rather  outraged  by  this}.  That's  not  a 
very  noble  attitude,  Captain  Cornelius. 

CORNELIUS.  I  know  it's  not.  I've  given  up  being 
noble.  When  I  went  out  to  France  first,  my  head 
was  stuffed  with  noble  sentiments.  Didn't  take  me 
long  to  get  rid  of  'em  when  I  got  there.  Do  you  know, 
I  read  "Henry  the  Fifth"  before  I  went  out — you  know, 
Shakespeare — and  I  swallowed  all  that  rot  about  "We 
few,  we  happy  few,  we  band  of  brothers."  (Drinks.} 
I  expected  to  find  everybody  full  of  Christian  charity 
— except  the  old  Boche,  of  course!  I  hadn't  been 
there  five  minutes  before  I  found  there  was  as  much 
intrigue  at  the  Front  as  there  was  in  England.  Every- 
body trying  to  get  everybody  else's  job,  except  the 
fools  like  Jack,  who  got  all  the  dirty  and  dangerous 
work  to  do.  Do  you  know  what  the  private  soldier's 
opinion  of  human  nature  is,  sir? 

JOHN.    No.    What  is  it? 

CORNELIUS.  "I'm  all  right.  To  hell  with  you!" 
That's  about  it,  don't  you  think?  Barring  the  fools, 
of  course. 

JOHN.    Is  that  your  view? 

CORNELIUS.  It  is  now,  but  it  wasn't  always  my 
view. 

JOHN.     H'm!      (He  sits   back   in   his   chair  and 


56  The  Ship 

contemplates    CORNELIUS  who  finishes  his   whisky.) 

CORNELIUS.    Shall  we  go  and  join  the  others? 

JOHN.  In  a  minute  or  two.  (Leaning  forward  with 
his  arms  resting  on  the  table.  Both  men  are  sitting 
with  their  backs  to  the  door  and  windows.)  Has  Jack 
ever  spoken  to  you  about  the  shipyard? 

CORNELIUS.  Oh,  yes,  he's  talked  a  lot  about  it.  He's 
got  some  damned  funny  opinions  about  machinery,  old 
Jack! 

JOHN.  Listen  to  me,  Cornelius !  I  want  him  back 
in  the  Yard.  I've  no  belief  in  this  tomfoolery  of  a 
farm,  but  even  if  I  had,  I  want  him  back.  My  rea- 
sons are  more  easily  felt  than  explained,  and  anyhow 
they  don't  particularly  matter  to  you.  I  want  him 
back.  That's  the  main  point.  You're  tired  of  this 
business.  That's  so,  isn't  it? 

CORNELIUS.    Yes,  that's  quite  right. 

JOHN.  Well,  now,  I'm  prepared  to  make  a  bargain 
with  you.  If  this  farm  is  a  failure,  Jack'll  come 
back  to  the  Yard.  I  know  him!  He  can't  stand  up 
to  a  failure.  He  must  have  success. 

CORNELIUS.    But  it  won't  fail. 

JOHN.    It  can  be  made  to*  fail. 

[JACK  THURLOW  comes  to  the  doorway  as 
JOHN  says  this.  He  stops  and  listens, 
unperceived.] 

CORNELIUS.    What  do  you  mean? 

JOHN.  It  can  be  made  to  fail.  If  you'll  make  it 
fail,  I'll  give  you  a  thousand  pounds. 

CORNELIUS.    What? 


The  Ship  57 

JOHN.  I'll  give  you  a  thousand  pounds  if  you  make 
this  farm  fail  within  the  next  twelve  months. 

CORNELIUS.  My  dear  Mr.  Thurlow,  I'm  pretty  far 
gone,  I  know,  but  not  quite  so  far  gone  as  that.  Let- 
ting a  pal  down — oh,  my  dear  sir!  ... 

JOHN.  You  won't  be  letting  him  down.  You'll  be 
doing  him  a  good  turn — curing  him  of  a  romantic  de- 
lusion— and  bringing  him  back  to  his  proper  place. 

CORNELIUS.  I  daresay  you  could 'find  a  good  excuse, 
Mr.  Thurlow,  for  your  share  in  the  business,  but  I 
shouldn't  be  able  to  find  one  for  mine.  Oh,  no! 

JOHN.  A  thousand  pounds — that's  a  pretty  good 
excuse,  isn't  it,  for  a  man  who  wants  an  easy  time  and 
plenty  of  money? 

CORNELIUS.  A  thousand  pounds  is  very  nice,  but 
damn  it  ...  oh,  no,  no! 

JOHN.  Well,  I'll  give  you  five  hundred  if  you'll 
clear  out  at  once  and  leave  Jack  on  his  own. 

CORNELIUS.     Five  hundred! 

JOHN.  Yes.  That  involves  you  in  nothing  that  you 
aren't  already  willing  to  do.  A  thousand  if  you'll 
stay  and  ruin  the  farm:  five  hundred  if  you'll  clear 
out  at  once  and  leave  Jack  to  ruin  it  himself. 

JACK  (from  the  door).  Well,  Corney,  what  are 
you  going  to  do? 

[JOHN  THURLOW  and  CORNELIUS  start  up, 
the  latter  unsteadily.] 

CORNELIUS.  I  didn't  know  you  were  there,  old 
chap. 

JACK.    I  came  back  to  fetch  you  both,  and  overheard 


58  The  Ship 

father's  generous  offer.  What  are  you  going  to  do, 
Corney?  Father's  waiting  for  your  answer. 

CORNELIUS.  I  think  I'll  take  the  five  hundred,  Mr. 
Thurlow !  That's  not  playing  low,  Jack !  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  old  chap,  if  I  was  to  stay  on  here,  I'd  really 
be  entitled  to  the  thousand.  I'm  sure  I'd  ruin  you. 

JACK.    You  said  you'd  stand  by  me !  .  .  . 

CORNELIUS.  Yes,  I  know  I  did,  and  I'd  like  to,  but 
really,  Jack,  I  hate  the  whole  damned  business.  I 
ought  to  have  married  a  girl  who  could  keep  me  in  the 
style  I'm  accustomed  to.  You'd  much  better  go  back 
to  your  father's  business !  .  .  . 

JACK.  No!  No!  Whatever  else  I  do,  I  won't  do 
that.  It  isn't  very  honourable,  father,  to  tempt  my 
friend  to  betray  me !  ... 

CORNELIUS.    Oh,  I  say,  Jack!  .  .  . 

JACK.  Didn't  he  offer  you  a  thousand  pounds  to 
make  the  farm  fail  so  that  I  might  go  cringing  back 
to  him? 

CORNELIUS.    He  didn't  mean  that. 

JOHN.  Oh,  yes,  I  did.  If  I  want  a  thing,  I  want 
it.  That's  all !  I  want  my  son  back  in  my  Yard,  and 
if  I  have  to  starve  him  into  returning,  then  I'll  starve 
him! 

CORNELIUS.  Well,  of  course,  that  a  point  of  view, 
but  it  seems  a  damned  silly  one  to  me. 

JOHN.  Perhaps,  but  it's  my  point  of  view,  and 
that's  good  enough  for  me.  When  I  look  at  you  two 
young  men,  I  wonder  to  myself  what's  to  become  of 
this  world.  (To  CORNELIUS.)  You  care  for  nothing 
but  what  you  call  a  good  time.  Easy  eating,  easy 
drinking,  easy  everything,  and  no  responsibility. 


The  Ship  59 

CORNELIUS  (as  if  considering  this  statement). 
Yes,  I  think  that's  a  very  fair  statement  of  what  I 
want. 

JOHN.  Your  flippancy,  Captain  Cornelius,  may 
amuse  fools,  but  it  won't  carry  you  very  far. 

CORNELIUS.  Mr.  Thurlow,  will  you  believe  that  I'm 
perfectly  serious  when  I  say  I  don't  care  where  it 
carries  me?  Do  you  think  I  haven't  thought  about 
life,  just  as  much  as  you  and  Jack  here?  (With  a 
sudden  and  startling  burst  of  passion.)  My  God,  man, 
don't  you  realise  what  men  like  me  have  been  through  ? 
.  .  .  (He  recovers  himself .)  I  say,  I'm  awfully  sorry ! 
I  must  be  drunk.  I  didn't  mean  to  break  out  on  you 
like  that,  Mr.  Thurlow,  but  all  the  same,  it's  quite 
true — I  don't  care  a  damn  about  anything. 

JOHN.    That'll  do  the  world  a  lot  of  good ! 

CORNELIUS.  I  don't  care.  I  take  no  interest  in  the 
world.  If  it's  going  to  blazes,  well,  let  it  go.  I  don't 
care !  The  only  thing  I  want  at  this  minute  is  the  five 
hundred  quid  you're  going  to  give  me,  and  as  soon  as 
I  get  it,  I'll  go  off  and  have  a  thumping  good  time 
while  it  lasts.  See?  Sorry,  Jack!  Sorry,  old  chap, 
but  this  noble  life  of  yours — nothing  in  it.  ...  Do 
you  know  I  believe  I  am  drunk!  I'm  talking  like  a 
politician,  so  I  must  be  drunk!  Do  you  mind,  Mr. 
Thurlow,  letting  me  have  that  cheque,  and  then  I'll 
just  go  and  have  a  sleep. 

JOHN.    I'll  send  it  to  you. 

CORNELIUS.  You  write  it  out  now  and  give  it  to 
Jack.  He's  straight.  He's  a  fool,  too,  but  he's  straight. 
He  wouldn't  be  straight  if  he  weren't  a  fool.  I  think 
I'll  go  and  have  a  sleep  now.  (He  goes  towards  the 


60  The  Ship 

door,  but  pauses  half-way  and  turns  towards  thetm.) 
Do  you  know,  I  lie  awake  at  night  hoping  there's  a 
heaven,  so  that  chaps  like  Jack  may  get  some  reward  ? 
You  think  that  out!  (He  staggers  towards  the  door, 
turning  to  JOHN  THURLOW.)  Did  you  say  five  hun- 
dred pounds  or  guineas  ? 

JOHN.    Pounds ! 

CORNELIUS.  Guineas  would  be  better,  but  still  .  .  . 
pounds!  (He  goes  off.) 

JACK.  Your  machine-civilisation,  father,  made  hirn 
like  that. 

JOHN.    Don't  be  childish ! 

JACK.  And  then  you  come  here  and  make  him 
drunk  and  tempt  him  to  betray  me !  . , .  .  Oh,  father, 
I'm  disappointed  in  you!  .  .  . 

[He  sits  down  in  dejection  at  the  table,  while 
his  father  goes  towards  the  door  leading 
to  the  garden.] 

JOHN.  I've  done  nothing  I'm  ashamed  of.  (At 
the  door.)  Here's  your  grandmother !  (Coming  hur- 
riedly to  the  table.)  Jack,  don't  tell  her  about  the 
thousand  pounds. 

JACK.    I  thought  you  weren't  ashamed,  father! 

JOHN.    I'm  not,  but  I  don't  want  her  to  know  that! 
[OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  enters. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  John,  dear,  we're  all  waiting 
for  you.  Why,  what's  the  matter? 

JOHN.    Oh,  the  usual  argument,  mother. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Where's  Captain  Cornelius? 

JOHN.  He's  tired,  and  he's  gone  to  lie  down  for  a 
while. 


The  Ship  61 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  I'm  afraid  you're  not  telling 
the  truth,  John.  I  suspected  there  might  be  trouble 
here,  so  I  came  myself  instead  of  letting  the  others 
come.  What's  the  matter,  Jack? 

JACK.    Ask  father,  granny. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    John? 

JOHN.  It's  nothing,  mother.  Let's  go  home.  I 
ought  not  to  have  come  here.  I'm  not  well,  and  Jack 
and  I  are  hopelessly  out  of  sympathy  with  each  other. 
I  shan't  trouble  you  again,  Jack!  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  One  minute,  John!  (Sitting 
down.)  I  want  to  know  whai's  happened. 

JOHN.  Nothing  of  any  consequence,  mother.  Let's 
go  home. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Jack?  (JACK  turns  away, 
without  answering.)  Jack,  my  dear,  I'm  speaking  to 
you.  Don't  you  hear  me? 

JACK.  I  can't  tell  you,  granny.  Father  must  do 
that. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  John,  have  you  been  doing 
something  of  which  Jack's  ashamed? 

JOHN.  I've  done  nothing  that  any  father'd  be 
ashamed  of! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  That's  not  my  question,  John ! 
Have  you  done  anything  of  which  your  son  is 
ashamed  ? 

JOHN.  Jack's  sentimentality  may  make  him  think 
so!  ... 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Then  you  did  do  some- 
thing? 

JOHN  (grudgingly).    Yes. 


62  The  Ship 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    What  was  it? 

JOHN.  I  ...  well,  I  offered  Cornelius  five  hun- 
dred pounds  if  he'd  clear  out  of  this  and  leave  Jack 
on  his  own.  I  thought  then  he  wouldn't  be  able  to 
carry  on  the  farm  and  he'd  have  to  come  back  to  the 
Yard.  Jack  heard  me  making  the  offer,  and  there  was 
a  row.  Cornelius  is  drunk.  He's  in  there  sleeping 
it  off. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Was  that  all  you  did  ? 

JOHN  (with  a  slight  Hesitation).    Yes,  mother. 

OLD<MRS.  THURLOW.    Is  that  all,  Jack? 

JOHN.    Don't  you  believe  me,  mother  ? 

OLD-  MRS.  THURLOW.  No,  dear !  Is  that  all  your 
father  did,  Jack? 

JACK  (catching  a  look  of  appeal  from  his  father). 
Yes,  granny. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  All  those  fierce  looks  for 
that!  Oh,  my  dear!  (She  gets  up  and  goes  to  him.) 

JACK  (almost  breaking  down).  Granny,  I'm  fright- 
fully unhappy !  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (embracing  him  as  if 'he  were 
a  child) .  Poor  Jack !  You  do  so  want  to  be  a  great 
man  and  to  assert  yourself,  don't  you?  Well,  well, 
you  must  be  allowed  to  have  your  way  until  you  get 
tired  of  it.  Come,  come,  make  up  your  quarrel  with 
your  father.  And  you,  John,  try  nofto  be  so  impatient 
and  domineering.  You've  behaved  very  stupidly.  I 
can't  turn  my  back  for  a  moment  but  you're  blunder- 
ing. You'll  have  to  let  Jack  work  this  out  for  himself. 
It's  no  good  trying  to  force  him.  Come,  Jack!  (She 
tries  to  lead  hifln  to  his  father.) 


The  Ship  63 

JACK  (resisting  her).  No,  granny,  I  can't  .  .  .  not 
yet! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  My  dear,  you're  being  very 
obstinate.  You're  almost  as  bad  as  your  father.  I 
don't  approve  of  what  he  did,  but  it  hardly  deserves  so 
much  condemnation  as  this.  I  suppose  you  didn't  do 
anything  else,  John? 

JOHN.  No,  mother.  I've  told  you  I  didn't.  Cor- 
nelius told  me  he  was  tired  of  the  farm,  but  couldn't 
give  it  up  because  he  hadn't  any  money,  and  so  I 
offered  him  five  hundred  to  clear  out !  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Five  hundred  pounds  seems 
a  lot  of  money  to  give  a  man  for  doing  what  he  wants 
to  do. 

JOHN.  You  know  that  I'd  pay  anything  to  get  Jack 
back  again. 

[The  door  opens  and  CORNELIUS  enters. 

CORNELIUS  (to  JOHN).  I  say,  couldn't  you  split 
the  difference  between  a  thousand  and  five  hundred! 
.  .  .  (Seeing  OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.)  Oh,  I  beg  your 
pardon!  I  didn't  see  you,  Mrs.  Thurlow!  I'll  come 
back  later.  (He  turns  to  go.) 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Captain  Cornelius! 

CORNELIUS  (turning  to  her  again).  Yes,  Mrs. 
Thurlow ! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Come  here! 

CORNELIUS.  It's  awfully  kind  of  you,  Mrs.  Thur- 
low, but — well,  to  tell  you  the  truth  I'm  not  really  in 
a  fit  condition  to  'sociate  with  ladies,  so  if  you'll  ex- 
cuse me!  .  .  . 

OLD   MRS.   THURLOW.    I   think   I   can   bear  your 


64  The  Ship 

society,  Captain  Cornelius,  whatever  your  condition 
may  be. 

CORNELIUS.  Well,  that's  awfully  nice  of  you,  but 
really.  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Sit  down,  please. 

CORNELIUS.  But  the  others  aren't  sitting  down.  (To 
JOHN  and  JACK,  appealingly.)  I  say,  is  there  a  strafe 
on? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (indicating  a  chair).  Sit  here, 
Captain  Cornelius,  beside  me.  (She  sits  down.) 

CORNELIUS.  Thanks  awfully!  (He  sits  down.)  I 
say,  won't  you  other  chaps  sit  down?  The  solemn 
way  you're  all  standing  about  makes  me  feel  as  if  I 
were  being  court-martialled. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Don't  trouble  about  them, 
Captain  Cornelius.  Just  listen  to  me! 

CORNELIUS.    Very  good,  Mrs.  Thurlow ! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  My  son  made  an  offer  of 
money  to  you. 

CORNELIUS.  Yes.  Yes,  that's  quite  right — he  did! 
He  offered  me  .  .  . 

JACK  (interrupting  him).  Five  hundred  pounds  to 
clear  out  of  this  and  leave  me  on  my  own.  And  you 
wanted  a  thousand ! 

CORNELIUS.  A  thousand,  yes.  Yes,  I  wanted  a 
thousand!  But  wait  a  minute — that  isn't  quite  .  .  . 
I'm  awfully  sorry,  Mrs.  Thurlow,  but  I'm  not  really 
myself,  you  know.  What  are  we  talking  about? 

JACK.  Father  offered  you  five  hundred  pounds  to 
chuck  the  farm,  and  you  wanted  a  thousand.  That's 
all! 


The  Ship  65 

CORNELIUS  (bewildered).    That's  not  right,  is  it? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Then  what  is  right? 

JACK.  I  overheard  the  offer,  granny.  There  isn't 
anything  else. 

CORNELIUS  (rising  and  staggering  towards  JACK). 
But  ... 

JACK  (very  emphatically).  You  wanted  a  thousand 
to  clear  out,  and  father  wouldn't  pay  more  than  five 
hundred.  That's  all. 

CORNELIUS.  Yes,  that's  right,  Jack.  That's  quite 
right!  I  thought  perhaps  he'd  split  the  difference. 
(Turning  to  OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.)  That's  quite  right, 
Mrs.  Thurlow !  I'm  sorry  I  interrupted  little  family 
discussion!  Very  sorry!  .  .  .  (He  staggers  out 
again). 

JOHN.    Come,  mother!    We'd  better  go. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  I  don't  like  to  see  you  parting 
like  this!  The  whole  thing  seems  so  queer!  Aren't 
you  going  to  give  us  any  tea,  Jack? 

JACK.    Yes,  granny,  I  want  to,  but  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Aren't  you  being  very  hard 
on  your  father,  dear  ? 

JACK.    I'm  sorry,  granny! 

JOHN.  I  think  we'd  better  not  stay,  mother.  We 
can  get  tea  on  the  way  back. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  But  the  others — won't  they 
think  it  odd  ? 

JOHN.    We  can  make  some  excuse. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Very  well.  I'm  sorry  our 
excursion  has  ended  like  this.  I  don't  quite  under- 
stand !  I  thought  you'd  done  something  serious,  John, 


66  The  Ship 

but  ...  I  hoped  you'd  feel  a  little  more  charitable, 
Jack.    I'm  very  disappointed  .  ,  . 

[JANET  and  HESTER  and  GEORGE  enter. 

JANET.    Aren't  you  coming  to  see  the  farm? 

JOHN.    No,  we're  going  home. 

JANET.    Going  home !    Already ! 

HESTER.    We've  only  just  come,  father. 

JOHN.  We're  going  home,  my  dear.  Jack  and  I 
have  had  a  disagreement,  and  we're  going  home. 
George,  you  and  Hester  go  on  ahead,  will  you? 

GEORGE.  Very  good,  sir.  (Going  to  JACK.)  Good- 
bye, Jack,  old  chap! 

JACK  (shaking  hands  with  him).  Good-bye, 
George. 

GEORGE.    Come  on,  Hester!     (He  goes  out.) 

HESTER.    But  I  don't  want  to  go  yet ! 

JOHN.    Do  as  you're  told. 

HESTER  (after  a  moment's  hesitation).  Good-bye, 
Jack.  (She  kisses  him.) 

JACK.    Good-bye,  Hester! 

HESTER.  I'll  come  and  see  you  again  soon.  I  think 
it's  a  very  nice  farm.  (Exit.) 

JANET.    What's  happened? 

JOHN.    Nothing.    Come  along,  mother! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    I'll  come  in  a  moment. 

[JOHN  THURLOW  turns  to  JANET,  indicating 
that  she  should  go  before  hint.} 

JANET.    But  Jack — I  want  Jack !  .  .  . 

[THURLOW  puts  her  arm  in  his  and  leads  her 
out.  OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  goes  to  JACK, 
and  puts  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.] 


The  Ship  67 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Was  that  really  all,  Jack? 
JACK.    Yes,  granny! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.     Such  a  pity — such  a  pity! 
(She  kisses  hvm.) 

JACK  (holding  her  to  him).    Granny,  I'm  not  really 
uncharitable !  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Aren't  you,  dear? 
JACK.      No.      Only!  .  .  .  Oh,    well!      (He    turns 
away  from  her.) 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Good-bye,  my  dear! 
JACK.    Good-bye,  granny! 

[She  goes  towards  the  door.  She  stops  for 
a  moment,  as  if  thinking,  but  does  not 
turn  back.  Then  she  goes  out. 

JACK  stands  still  until  he  hears  the 
sound  of  the  motors  moving  off.  Then 
he  goes  to  the  door  and  looks  after 
them.] 


ACT  THREE 


THE  THIRD  ACT 
SCENE  I 

The  scene  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  first  act,  but  the 
time  is  three  months  later  than  the  second  act,  in 
the  early  summer,  and  the  afternoon  sunshine 
pouring  through  the  open  windows  makes  the 
room  look  very  attractive,  particularly  as  the  eye 
rests  here  and  there  on  bowls  of  flowers  plucked 
that  morning.  OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  4s  sitting 
alone,  just  out  of  the  sunlight,  but  well  within 
sight  of  the  garden.  She  is  reading  at  random 
in  a  book  of  verse  by  Edmund  Waller,  and  as  the 
scene  begins  she  finds  this  poem,  entitled  "On  the 
Picture  of  a  Fair  Youth,  taken  after  he  was  dead," 
which  she  reads  aloud: 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (reading). 
As  gathered  flowers,  while  their  wounds  are  new, 
Look  gay  and  fresh,  as  on  the  stalk  they  grew; 
Torn  from  the  root  that  nourished  them,  awhile 
(Not  taking  notice  of  their  fate)  they  smile, 
And,  in  the  hand  which  rudely  plucked  them,  show 
Fairer  than  those  that  to  their  autumn  grow ; 
So  love  and  beauty  still  that  visage  grace ; 
Death  cannot  fright  them  from  their  wonted  place. 


72  The  Ship 

Alive,  the  hand  of  crooked  Age  had  marred 
Those  lovely  features,  which  cold  death  has  spared. . . . 
[She  puts  down  the  book,  and  turns  to  a  boixfl 
of  flowers  which  she  draws  towards  her. 
She  touches  them  very  gently,  and  mur- 
murs a  line  or  two  from  Waller's  poem. 
Quoting.] 

And,  in  the  hand  which  rudely  plucked  them,  show 
Fairer  than  those  that  to  their  autumn  grow. 

[The  door  opens  and  JACK  THURLOW  enters. 
He  wears  the  clothes  in  which  we  saw 
him  in  the  second  act.    OLD  MRS.  THUR- 
LOW rises  eagerly  to  greet  him.] 
OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Jack,  dear,  I'm  so  glad  you've 
come. 

JACK  (kissing  her}.    Is  he  very  ill? 
OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    He's  ill,  of  course,  but  he's 
more  troubled  than  ill.    Dr.  Jordan  has  forbidden  him 
to  go  on  the  "Magnificent's"  maiden  trip!  .  .  . 
JACK.    Good  heavens!    He  must  be  pretty  bad! 
OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    It's  a  terrible  blow  for  him. 
He's  so  proud  of  the  "Magnificent,"  and  this  coming 
on  top  of  your  desertion !  .  .  . 
JACK.    Desertion,  granny ! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  That's  how  he  feels  about  it, 
Jack.  He  doesn't  say  much,  but  I  know  that  he  broods 
over  it.  You've  never  been  to  the  Yard  once  since 
the  boat  was  launched.  That  hurts  his  pride,  my  dear ! 
You  take  no  interest  in  his  greatest  achievement,  and 
you're  his  only  son.  You've  not  been  here  since  that 
Sunday  we  went  to  see  your  farm. 
JACK.  I  know! 


The  Ship  73 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  It  seems  a  little  stubborn  of 
you,  Jack !  I  didn't  realise  that  you  were  so  hard.  I 
thought  that  when  Hester  and  George  got  married  your 
father'd  feel  less  grieved  about  you,  but  I'm  afraid  he 
doesn't. 

JACK.  Granny,  you  believe  me,  don't  you,  when  I 
say  that  I  love  my  father?  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Yes,  dear,  I  do. 

JACK.  I'd  gladly  do  anything  in  my  power  for  him, 
but  I  can't  do  this.  It's  against  everything  that  I  be- 
lieve and  feel,  and  when  I  think  sometimes  of  going 
back  to  the  Yard,  because  I  know  he  wants  me  to, 
something  inside  me  tells  me  I  shall  betray  myself  if 
I  go.  Father  can't  see  my  point  of  view — won't  see 
it.  Well,  that  can't  be  helped !  I'm  sorry,  but  it  can't 
be  helped. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.     Has  Captain  Cornelius  left 


you 


JACK.  Yes,  he's  gone  to  Australia.  I  thought  I 
should  miss  him  more  than  I  do,  but  I've  managed  to 
get  on  fairly  well  without  him.  I  think  my  farm's 
going  to  be  a  success. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    I  hope  so,  dear. 

JACK  (picking  up  her  book).  What  are  you  read- 
ing, granny? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Some  of  Edmund  Waller's 
poetry,  Jack.  A  very  charming  poet — a  little  artificial, 
perhaps,  but  very  charming. 

JACK.     I  don't  read  poetry. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  No,  dear!  I've  often  noticed 
that  fanners  seldom  do.  I'm  rather  anxious  about  you, 
Jack. 


74  The  Ship 

JACK.    About  me? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Yes,  I'm  wondering  whether 
you'll  always  be  a  prig! 

JACK.    A  prig!    Me! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  I  like  to  think  of  young  men 
being  very  self-opinionated  and  revolutionary.  They 
ought  to  be  saying  wild  things  when  they're  twenty- 
one,  but  I  don't  think  they  ought  to  be  saying  them 
when  they're  thirty,  and  I'm  sure  they  oughtn't  to  be 
saying  them  when  they're  forty.  What  I'm  sometimes 
afraid  of  is  that  you'll  still  be  saying  when  you're 
middle-aged  the  things  which  were  quite  right  for  you 
to  be  saying  when  you  were  a  boy — and  you  know, 
Jack,  things  which  sound  very  clever  at  twenty-one 
sound  very  silly  at  forty. 

JACK.    I'm  not  trying  to  be  clever,  granny. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Well,  then,  there's  hope  for 
you,  dear!  I  don't  think  anyone  has  a  right  to  be  a 
clever  young  man  after  the  age  of  thirty. 

JACK.    Why  does  father  want  to  see  me? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  It's  about  the  "Magnifi- 
cent"! 

JACK  (impatiently}.  Oh,  what's  the  use,  granny! 
I  may  be  a  prig  and  a  fool  and  all  the  things  you  say 
I  am  ... 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  No,  no,  dear,  I  didn't  say  you 
were  a  prig  or  a  fool.  I  only  said  I  hoped  you  wouldn't 
be  either  the  one  or  the  other. 

JACK.  Well,  if  I  am,  I  am.  I  can't  help  it.  And 
it's  perfectly  useless  for  father  to  try  to  persuade  me 
to  go  back  to  the  Yard.  I  won't  go. 


The  Ship  75 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  That  isn't  why  your  father 
sent  for  you,  Jack. 

JACK.    Oh !    Then  why  did  he  send  for  me  ? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  He  seems  reconciled  to  the 
fact  that  you  won't  return  to  the  Yard — at  least  he 
talks  now  as  if  he  were!  .  .  .  (The  door  opens  and 
JANET  enters.)  Oh,  here's  your  mother! 

JANET  (going  to  JACK  and  embracing  him).  Jack, 
dear,  your  father's  coming  down.  Promise  me  you'll 
do  what  he  wants! 

JACK.    I  must  know  what  it  is  first. 

JANET.  Oh,  why  do  you  always  expect  your  father 
to  explain  things  to  you ! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  He  wants  you  to  take  his 
place  on  the  "Magnificent"  .  .  . 

JANET  (interrupting).  Yes,  dear,  on  her  maiden 
trip.  He's  been  forbidden  to  go  himself.  Dr.  Jor- 
dan's very  arbitrary,  but  of  course  he's  a  specialist, 
and  if  he  weren't  arbitrary  nobody  would  believe  he 
was  a  specialist!  .  .  . 

[The  door  opens  and  JOHN  THURLOW,  wear- 
ing a  dressing-gown  and  bedroom  slip- 
pers, enters.  He  has  a  graver  and  more 
haggard  look  than  when  we  last  saw 
him.] 

JOHN.    That  you,  Jack? 

JACK.    Yes,  father! 

JOHN  (sitting  down).    Feeling  all  right? 

JACK.  Yes,  thank  you.  I'm  sorry  you're  not  well, 
father ! 

JOHN   (with  nervous  irritability).     Yes,  yes,  yes! 


76  The  Ship 

.  .  .  (Recovering  himself.)  Has  your  grandmother 
told  you  what  I  want  you  to  do? 

JACK.  Partly,  father,  but  I  don't  quite  understand. 
You  want  me  to  go  on  the  "Magnificent" !  .  .  . 

JOHN.  Yes — in  my  place.  My  illness  has  been  a 
bitter  disappointment  to  me,  Jack — one  of  the  worst 
blows  I've  ever  had.  I'd  set  my  heart  on  going  on 
the  "Magnificent's"  maiden  trip,  but  Jordan's  abso- 
lutely forbidden  it.  Overwork,  he  says!  Nervous 
breakdown!  .  .  .  Everybody  who's  had  anything  to 
do  with  her  will  be  there — except  me,  the  man  who 
made  her!  .  .  .  You  don't  realise  how  I've  imagined 
her  sailing  up  New  York  Harbour,  with  all  the  other 
ships  sounding  their  syrens  to  welcome  her.  I've  seen 
myself — oh,  a  thousand  times  I've  seen  myself  on  the 
bridge  beside  the  captain,  taking  my  ship  to  her  berth ! 
.  .  .  And  Jordan  says  I  can't  go,  I  mustn't  go!  ... 
(His  weakened  nerves  almost  cause  him  to  break 
down,  but  after  a  moment  of  emotion,  he  recovers  him- 
self.) Oh,  well,  it  can't  be  helped,  can  it?  I'm  dis- 
appointed, but  .  .  .  (He  makes  a  gesture  of  resigna- 
tion.) It  can't  be  helped!  But  if  I  don't  go  there 
won't  be  a  Thurlow  on  board !  You  see,  Jack  ?  There 
won't  be  a  Thurlow  on  board!  That  doesn't  seem 
right,  does  it?  I  ought  to  be  there,  but  if  I'm  not 
allowed  to  go,  someone  of  my  name  ought  to  go,  don't 
you  think?  So  I  sent  for  you,  Jack.  I  want  you  to 
take  my  place.  That's  all!  I  won't  ask  you  to  come 
back  to  the  Yard — though  God  knows  I'd  give  anything 
to  have  you  there.  All  I  ask  of  you  is  that  you'll 
gratify  me  to  this  extent.  You  and  I  are  the  only 
Thurlows  left!  . 


The  Ship  77 

JANET.  Oh,  John,  there's  granny  and  Hester  .  .  . 
and  me! ... 

JOHN.  I'm  talking  about  men — not  women!  (To 
JACK.)  If  you  don't  go,  Jack,  I'll  either  have  to  go 
myself  .  .  . 

JANET.    You  can't,  dear! 

JOHN  (ignoring  the  interruption).  Or  else  the 
"Magnificent"  will  take  her  maiden  trip  without  a 
Thurlow  on  board. 

JACK.    Would  that  matter,  father? 

JOHN.  Matter!  .  .  .  My  best  boat  to  go  out  for 
the  first  time,  and  none  of  us  on  board !  You  must 
see  that  wouldn't  be  right. 

JACK.    Can't  George  go?    He's  one  of  us  now. 

JOHN.  No,  he's  not.  Hester's  one  of  his  family! 
That's  what's  happened  to  her!  You'll  go,  won't  you, 
Jack? 

JACK.    How  long  shall  I  be  away? 

JOHN.  Not  more  than  a  fortnight — three  weeks  at 
the  outside. 

JACK.    Three  weeks !    Oh,  I  can't,  father ! 

JOHN.     Why — why  can't  you?     . 

JACK.  I  can't  leave  my  farm  at  this  time  of  the 
year  for  three  weeks!  .  .  . 

JOHN  (losing  control  of  himself).  Damn  your 
farm!  What  does  it  matter? 

JACK.    It  matters  a  great  deal  to  me,  father! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  John,  dear,  Jack's  farm  is 
just  as  important  to  him  as  your  shipyard  is  to  you. 
I  think  you  ought  to  make  allowance  for  that. 

JOHN.    Is  he  making  any  allowance  for  me? 

JACK.    I  can't  see  why  it's  so  important  for  a  Thur- 


78  The  Ship 


low,  to  be  on  board.    She  won't  sail  any  the  better  for 
that. 

JOHN.  That's  the  trouble  with  you !  You've  never 
been  able  to  see  anything  but  what  you  wanted  to  see. 

JACK.  I'm  certainly  not  going  to  run  the  risk  of 
ruining  my  farm  for  a  piece  of  sentimentality.  That's 
all  it  is,  father.  Sentimentality! 

JOHN.  Does  that  make  it  any  the  less  real?  Do 
you  think  that  sentimentality,  as  you  call  it,  doesn't 
move  a  man's  heart  just  as  strongly  as  anything  else? 
My  God,  I  wish  I  weren't  sick!  I  wouldn't  go,  hat 
in  hand  to  you,  my  boy  .  .  .  not  for  anything  .  .  . 
not  for  anything!  And  then  I'm  refused  because 
you've  got  to  make  hay  or  feed  your  damned  chickens. 
Ha !  That's  more  important  than  my  ship ! 

JANET.  Why  don't  you  do  something  that  your 
father  asks  you,  Jack?  You  seem  always  to  be  op- 
posing him. 

JOHN.  Yes,  my  own  son — I  daren't  ask  him  to  do 
anything  for  me  because  he's  certain  to  refuse! 
Strangers!  Oh,  yes,  they'll  do  things  for  me — glad 
to  do  them.  George  Norwood  would  give  his  soul  for 
me.  But  my  own  son  .  .  .  my  only  son  .  .  .  oh,  no, 
I  mustn't  expect  him  to  do  anything  at  all — except 
refuse  me  everything  I  ask. 

JACK.  You  always  assume  that  what  I'm  doing 
doesn't  matter.  Your  whims  are  more  important  than 
my  work.  I  won't  go,  father ! 

JOHN  (with  bitter  sarcasm}.    Ha!     My  only  son! 

JACK.  You've  done  your  best  to  spoil  my  farm.  It 
isn't  any  thanks  to  you  that  I've  kept  my  end  up.  I 


The  Ship  79 

haven't  forgotten  all  that  happened  when  you  came  to 
see  me !  That  cancelled  a  good  deal  of  my  obligation 
to  you. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Because  your  father  offered 
Captain  Cornelius  money  to  do  what  he'd  already  made 
up  his  mind  to  do?  Because  of  that,  Jack? 

JACK  (after  a  moment's  hesitation).    Yes,  granny! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  My  dear,  you're  .  .  .  vindic- 
tive! 

JOHN.  That  isn't  all,  mother!  I  asked  him  not  to 
tell  you,  but  I  don't  know  that  it  matters  very  much. 
I'm  not  ashamed  of  it!  ... 

JACK.    There's  no  need,  father !  .  .  . 

JOHN  (to  his  mother).  I  offered  Cornelius  a  thou- 
sand pounds  if  he'd  make  the  farm  fail — so  that  I 
could  get  Jack  back  to  the  Yard. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  You  tried  to  bribe  Captain 
Cornelius  to  ruin  Jack's  farm? 

JOHN.    Yes. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  But  you  said  .  .  .  Jack,  you 
said  .  .  . 

JOHN.    I  asked  him  not  to  tell  you. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Oh,  John,  that  was  mean  of 
you  .  .  .  mean! 

JOHN.    I'm  not  ashamed  of  what  I  did. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Then  why  did  you  ask  him 
not  to  tell  me? 

JOHN.  Because  I  knew  you  wouldn't  like  it,  and  I 
didn't  want  to  hurt  you.  I've  often  not  done  a  thing 
— or  kept  it  from  you — not  because  I  thought  it  was 
wrong — I  didn't — but  because  I  knew  you'd  think  it 


8o  The  Ship 

was  wrong,  and  I  didn't  want  to  hurt  you.  Every- 
body does  things  like  that!  That's  morality  .  .  . 
hiding  things  that  you  don't  think  are  wrong  from 
people  who  do  think  they're  wrong! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (going  to  JACK).  Oh,  and  I've 
misjudged  you  so,  my  dear! 

JACK.  It's  all  right,  granny.  I  knew  you  didn't 
understand. 

[He  leads  her  back  to  her  seat. 

JOHN.  You  won't  take  my  place  on  the  "Magnifi- 
cent," Jack? 

JACK.  No,  father.  I'd  be  willing  to  do  so  if  it  were 
important,  but  it  isn't ! 

JOHN.  Isn't  it  horrible  to  have  a  son  who  belittles 
everything  that  matters  to  you! 

JANET.  You'd  better  let  George  and  Hester  go, 
John! 

JOHN.  No,  no !  It  must  be  either  Jack  or  me !  And 
since  he  won't  go,  well,  I  will ! 

JANET.    But  Dr.  Jordan  says  you  mustn't  go. 

JOHN.  I  don't  care  what  Jordan  says.  Jack  thinks 
this  wish  of  mine  is  just  silly  sentiment.  Well,  men 
have  died  for  silly  sentiment,  haven't  they? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Don't  be  stupid,  John! 

JOHN.  Mother,  you  know  me !  I  swear  that  I'll  go 
on  the  "Magnificent,"  even  if  I'm  carried  on  to  her, 
unless  Jack  takes  my  place.  Now,  Master  Jack,  what's 
your  answer  to  that  ? 

JANET.    You'll  die,  if  you  go. 

JOHN.    Well,  I  can  die  then — on  my  ship ! 

[There  is  a  slight  pause. 


The  Ship  81 

JACK.    All  right,  father !    I'll  go ! 

JOHN.    You'll  go !  ... 

JACK.    Yes. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (going  to  him).  My  dear, 
that's  very  fine  of  you!  (To  her  son.)  You  don't  de- 
serve it,  John. 

JOHN.  Thank  you,  Jack.  (To  his  mother.)  I  may 
not  deserve  it,  mother,  but  I'm  very  grateful !  .  .  . 

JANET.    But  what  about  the  farm? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Can't  we  get  someone  to  look 
after  it  for  you,  Jack,  while  you're  away? 

JOHN.  Yes,  we  can  do  that.  I'll  pay — whatever 
it  is. 

JACK.  I  don't  want  you  to  pay,  father.  I'll  manage 
my  own  farm. 

JOHN.  Very  well,  my  boy.  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad 
I  am!  .  .  . 

JACK.  There's  no  need  to  tell  me.  I'm  not  going 
because  I  want  to,  but  because  you've  forced  me. 
When  am  I  to  be  ready? 

JOHN.    She  sails  on  Tuesday. 

JACK.    That  gives  me  two  days. 

[He  goes  towards  the  door. 

JANET.    Aren't  you  going  to  stay  to  dinner,  Jack  ? 

JACK.  No,  thanks,  mother!  I  want  to  go  home! 
(Exit.) 

JANET  (hurrying  after  him).  I  can't  let  him  go  like 
that! 

[OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  is  back  in  the  seat 
where  we  saw  her  at  the  beginning  of 
the  scene.  She  has  picked  up  the  volume 


82  The  Ship 

of  Waller's  verses  and  is  reading  it 
aloud.  Her  son  sits  at  the  table,  vaguely 
listening.] 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (reading.} 
As  gathered  flowers,  while  their  wounds  are  new, 
Look  gay  and  fresh,  as  on  the  stalk  they  grew ; 
Torn  from  the  root  that  nourished  them,  awhile 
(Not  taking  notice  of  their  fate)  they  smile, 
And,  in  the  hand  which  rudely  plucked  them,  show 
Fairer  than  those  that  to  their  autumn  grow ; 
So  love  and  beauty  still  that  visage  grace ; 
Death  cannot  fright  them  from  their  wonted  place. 
Alive,  the  hand  of  crooked  Age  had  marred 
Those  lovely  features,  which  cold  death  has  spared.  .  .  . 

JOHN  (interrupting  her}.    What's  that,  mother? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (quoting}  .  .  .  the  hand  of 
crooked  Age  had  marred  Those  lovely  features!  .  .  . 
Just  a  poem,  my  dear !  I  wonder  if  we  old  people  are 
ever  quite  fair  to  the  young. 

JOHN.    Are  they  ever  fair  to  us? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Are  any  of  us  fair  to  each 
other  ? 

JOHN.  I  suppose  you  feel  bitter  against  me,  too, 
mother,  because  I  tried  to  bribe  Cornelius? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Bitter,  dear? 

JOHN.  Yes.  You  said  you  were  disappointed  in 
me. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (going  to  him}.  My  dear,  I 
don't  love  you  only  when  you  please  me.  I  still  love 
you  even  when  you  disappoint  me.  That's  what  love's 
for,  isn't  it? 


The  Ship  83 

[She  turns  his  face  up  to  hers  and  kisses 
him.] 

SCENE  II 

The  scene  is  a  corner  of  the  garden  of  THURLOW'S 
country-house  five  days  later.  The  corner  is 
sunny,  and  JOHN  THURLOW  often  goes  there  for 
warmth  and  air.  There  is  a  seat,  shaded  by  a 
tree,  in  the  corner,  and  here,  when  the  curtain 
rises,  JOHN  THURLOW  is  sitting.  OLD  MRS. 
THURLOW  comes  to  him  from  the  house  which 
cannot  be  seen. 

JOHN  (anxiously).    Well,  mother? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Nothing  yet,  dear.  (She  sits 
down  beside  him.) 

JOHN.  Damn  George!  What's  he  thinking  about? 
He  knows  I'm  all  pins  and  needles  for  the  latest  mes- 
sages. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  My  dear,  you  mustn't  get  so 
excited.  George  probably  has  some  very  good  reason 
for  not  telephoning  this  morning.  You  had  all  the 
messages  up  to  yesterday  evening!  .  .  . 

JOHN.  Yes,  yes,  I  know,  mother.  I'm  sorry,  but 
I'm  so  jumpy. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  You're  very  pleased,  aren't 
you,  with  her  record  so  far? 

JOHN  (with  pleasure).  Yes,  I  am.  She's  been  won- 
derful. Wonderful !  Three  days  out  now !  She  must 
be  nearly  there.  I  can  imagine  her  presently  sighting 


84  The  Ship 

Nantucket,  and  all  the  passengers  looking  eagerly  for 
the  flat  American  coast.  I  wish  I  were  there! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Well,  dear,  you've  almost 
been  there,  what  with  wireless  messages  and  your  own 
imagination.  Why,  you've  almost  seen  her  going 
across ! 

JOHN.  Yes,  that's  true.  She's  exceeded  my  hopes, 
mother.  It  won't  be  easy  to  break  her  record.  I 
can't  think  why  George  doesn't  send  the  latest  mes- 
sages. It's  so  funny  to  be  late  with  them  now. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  He's  a  little  anxious  about 
Hester. 

JOHN.  Anxious  about  Hester!  What's  there  to  be 
anxious  about? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Oh,  John,  dear,  don't  you 
guess  ? 

JOHN.  No.  (Then  as  he  understands.)  Do  you 
mean  to  say  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Yes,  dear.  Hester's  going  to 
have  a  baby. 

JOHN.  How  strange  that  seems !  My  little  Hester ! 
.  .  .  We  must  have  her  here,  mother.  The  baby  ought 
to  be  born  in  my  house — my  grandchild  ought  to  be 
born  here.  (Turning  to  her  with  a  laugh.}  Do  you 
realise  that  you'll  be  a  great-grandmother?  Great- 
grandmother  !  You  know,  you're  beginning  to  get  old. 
You'll  have  to  get  a  little  more  sedate  in  your  ways, 
mother.  (OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  gives  a  little  laugh  of 
satisfaction.)  And  I  shall  be  a  grandfather!  That 
makes  me  feel  a  bit  ...  ancient !  I  hope  to  God  it's 
a  boy.  We'll  have  him  in  the  Yard — a  shipbuilder, 


The  Ship  85 

ha,  ha,  like  his  father!  And  his  grandfather!  Eh? 
Where  is  Hester  ?  Is  she  here  ? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Don't  go  to  her  yet?  She's 
with  Janet.  She  came  out  this  morning  to  tell  us. 

JOHN.  Janet'll  be  pleased, — as  pleased  as  I  am.  It's 
extraordinary,  mother ;  I  feel  as  proud  as  if  I  were 
going  to  be  a  father  instead  of  just  a  grandfather. 
How  do  you  account  for  that  ? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  I  don't  quite  know,  dear.  I 
felt  like  that  about  Jack  and  Hester,  but  that  was 
understandable.  A  granny  has  all  the  pleasures  of 
motherhood  without  any  of  the  pains.  I  expect  I  shall 
feel  just  the  same  about  Hester's  little  child  as  I  felt 
about  her — as  I  felt  about  you,  dear.  You  are  my 
ships,  all  of  you,  going  out  on  long,  difficult  journeys 
to  strange  places,  little  ships  and  big  ships  that  I  made, 
that  I  love. 

JOHN.    You're  a  wonderful  old  woman,  mother ! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Oh,  no,  I'm  not.  I'm  just 
your  mother.  That's  all. 

JOHN.  Yes,  but  you're  different  from  other  men's 
mothers.  You're  different  altogether.  I'm  sixty-two, 
but  somehow  you  make  me  feel  as  if  I  were  still  a 
boy. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Do  I,  dear?  And  aren't  you 
still  a  boy — with  your  enthusiasms  and  your  impatience 
and  your  wanting  the  impossible. 

JOHN.  I've  never  wanted  the  impossible.  I'm  a 
perfectly  reasonable  man — always  have  been. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Oh,  no,  you  haven't.  I  re- 
member when  you  were  a  very  little  boy,  John,  I  lifted 


86  The  Ship 

you  up  in  my  arms  one  evening,  so  that  you  could  see 
the  sun  set.    And  as  it  went  down,  I  said  to  you,  "Now, 
dear,  watch !    Going !    Going ! !    Gone ! ! !"    And  then 
the  sun  set,  and  you  turned  to  me,  with  extraordinary 
confidence,  and  you  said,  "Do  it  again,  mammy!" 
JOHN.    And  did  you  do  it  again? 
OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    I  had  to  pretend  I  could  only 
do  it  once  a  day.    You've  always  been  rather  like  that, 
John! 

JOHN  (very  pleased).    Ha,  ha,  that's  a  good  story, 
that !    Do  it  again,  mammy !    That's  good,  that ! 

[OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  suddenly  rises. 
JOHN.    What  is  it,  mother? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    I  thought  I  heard  someone! 
.  .  .  I'll  go  and  see !  .  .  . 

[She  goes  off,  leaving  him  alone.  He  rises 
and  stretches,  and  then  seats  himself 
more  comfortably.] 

JOHN  (to  hiflnself).    Fancy  my  little  Hester  having 
a  baby !    She's  only  a  child  herself !  .  .  . 

[OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  returns.     There  is  a 

look  of  terrible  grief  on  her  face.] 
OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    John !    John ! ! 
JOHN.    My  God,  mother,  what's  wrong? 
OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Oh,  John,  John !  .  .  . 
JOHN  (going  to  her).    Mother,  what's  happened? 
[GEORGE   NORWOOD,   as   distraught   as   OLD 
MRS.     THURLOW,     enters.     OLD    MRS. 
THURLOW  sits  down.] 
GEORGE  NORWOOD.    Oh,  sir ! 

JOHN.     What's  happened!     What  in  the  name  of 
God  has  happened? 


The  Ship  87 

GEORGE.    The  boat,  sir  ...  the  "Magnificent" !  .  .  . 

JOHN.  Yes.  Yes!  What  about  her?  Why  didn't 
you  send  me  the  wireless  messages  sooner? 

GEORGE.    She's  gone  down,  sir ! 

JOHN.  Gone  down!  My  ship  .  .  .  my  ship  .  .  . 
sunk ! 

GEORGE.  Yes,  sir.  That's  why  I  couldn't  send  a 
message  to  you  earlier.  There  weren't  any  from  the 
ship.  She  struck  an  iceberg  and  went  down  in  twenty 
minutes.  We've  just  got  the  news  from  a  rescuer.  I 
came  out  at  once !  .  .  . 

JOHN  (half -stunned} .  My  God!  .  .  .  My  God, 
she's  gone  down  .  .  .  my  ship !  (He  looks  about  him 
in  a  dazed  manner.)  Oh,  no!  No,  no.  No,  no,  no, 
NO!  It's  not  true,  it's  not  true!  She  couldn't  sink. 
She  was  unsinkable !  .  .  . 

[JANET  comes  in,  and  the  expression  on 
her  face  shows  that  she  has  heard  the 
news.] 

JANET.    John !    John !  .  .  . 

JOHN  (rising  and  going  to  her).  It's  not  true,  Janet. 
It  can't  be  true. 

GEORGE.    It  is  true,  sir.    I  wish  to  God  it  weren't. 

JOHN.    Oh,  Janet,  my  ship! 

JANET.    John  .  .  .my  son! 

JOHN.  Jack!  Jack?  What — what's  happened  to 
Jack? 

GEORGE.    I  think  he's  drowned,  sir! 

JOHN.    Drowned ! 

[JANET,  sobbing,  turns  away  from  him  and 
he  stands,  as  if  he  were  stunned,  staring 
uncomprehendingly  at  GEORGE.  Then  he 


88  The  Ship 

goes  to  GEORGE  and  .touches  him  on  the 
sleeve.} 

JOHN.    My  son!    What  did  you  say? 
GEORGE.     Oh,  sir,  he's  been  .  .  . 
JOHN.    Drowned !     (He  sways  a  little  and  puts  his 
hand  to  his  eyes.)    Oh,  my  God!  .  .  .  my  God! 

[He  turns  to  OLD  MRS.  THURLOW,  mumbling 
brokenly,  and  as  she  opens  her  arms  to 
him,  he  falls  heavily  into  them.] 


SCENE  III 

The  scene  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  first  act,  several 
hours  after  the  time  of  the  second  scene  of  this 
act.  The  room  is  quite  dark.  Presently  the  door 
opens,  and  JOHN  THURLOW,  in  his  dressing-gown, 
enters.  He  switches  on  one  of  the  lights,  and  then 
gazes  about  the  room  until  he  sees  the  model  of 
the  "Magnificent."  He  goes  to  it  and,  ^vith  an 
effort,  lifts  it  from  its  place  and  carries  it  to  the 
table  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  where  he  -puts  it 
down.  He  stands  looking  at  it  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then,  sighing  heavily,  goes  to  the  long  win- 
dows and  pulls  back  the  curtains,  admitting  the 
moonlight.  He  opens  the  windows  and  goes  a 
little  way  into  the  garden,  but  not  out  of  sight  of 
the  audience,  where  he  remains  for  a  while.  Then 
he  returns  to  the  room,  leaving  the  windows 
wide  open,  and  sits  down  at  the  table  where  the 
model  is. 


The  Ship  89 

JOHN    (almost   fondling    the    model).     What    was 
wrong?    W hat  was  wrong? 

[He  listens,  almost  as  if  he  expected  the  boat 
to  answer.  Then  he  gets  up  and  goes 
out  of  the  room.  In  a  few  seconds  he 
returns,  carrying  a  revolver,  which  he 
examines,  when  he  has  re-seated  himself, 
to  see  whether  it  is  loaded.  Evidently  he 
is  satisfied,  for  he  rises  and  stands  in  the 
attitude  of  a  man  taking  farewell.  He 
lifts  the  revolver  and  looks  at  it  in  a 
fascinated  fashion,  and  then,  with  an 
effort,  raises  it  towards  his  head.  But 
before  he  can  raise  it  far,  he  hears  the 
sound  of  footsteps,  and  he  stops  to  listen. 
Then  he  puts  the  revolver  on  the  table 
and,  going  swiftly  to  the  switch,  turns  off 
the  light.  He  comes  down  again  in  the 
dark  and  stands  in  the  shadow. 

The  door  opens,  and  OLD  MRS.  THUR- 
LOW,  fully  clothed,  comes  in.  She  stands 
in  the  doorzvay,  through  which  a  beam  of 
light  comes,  and  listens.  Then  she 
speaks.] 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.     John!     (He  does  not  an- 
swer.)    John. 

[She  turns  on  the  light  and  sees  him. 
OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.     What's  the  matter?     Why 
didn't  you  answer? 

JOHN.     I  want  to  be  alone,  mother.     Why  haven't 
you  gone  to  bed?    You're  still  dressed. 


90  The  Ship 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Yes,  dear,  I'm  still  dressed. 
I've  been  with  Janet.  What  are  you  doing,  John  ? 

JOHN.    Thinking,  mother! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    You've  moved  the  model. 

JOHN.  Yes.  I  ...  I  wanted  to  look  at  it.  I  can't 
understand  what  went  wrong.  I  think  and  think  and 
think !  .  .  .  How's  Janet  ? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  She's  quieter  now.  Hester's 
sitting  with  her.  Poor  Janet. 

JOHN.  Yes  .  .  .  poor  Janet!  You  heard  what  she 
said  to  me? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Oh,  my  dear,  she  didn't  know 
what  she  was  saying.  (She  sits  near  him.) 

JOHN.  She's  right,  mother.  I  killed  Jack  just  as 
surely  as  if  I'd  stabbed  him.  I  made  him  go  against 
his  will.  I  forced  him  to  ...  to  his  death ! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (putting  her  arms  about  him 
and  drawing  him  close  to  her).  You  mustn't  talk  like 
that,  John !  Why,  you're  cold,  dear !  You're  shiver- 
ing! (She  looks  across  the  room  to  the  open  win- 
dows.) The  windows  are  open.  I'll  go  and  shut  them. 

JOHN.    I'm  not  cold. 

[He  gets  up  and  moves  away  and  as  he  does 
so,  she  sees  the  revolver  lying  on  the 
table.  She  picks  it  up.] 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (horrified).    John! 

JOHN  (turning  to  her).    What  is  it,  mother? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (holding  out  the  revolver). 
Oh,  John,  John!  .  .  . 

[She  sits  down,  the  revolver  still  in  her  hand, 
unable  to  speak.] 


The  Ship  91 


JOHN.  Well,  mother,  I  ...  oh,  what's  the  use, 
mother  ?  I've  lost  everything,  my  ship,  my  son !  .  .  . 

[He  sits  down  by  the  model,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  table,  from  her.] 

JOHN.  You  saw  the  last  message  George  brought 
to-night  ? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Yes. 

JOHN.    Do  you  remember  what  was  in  it? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    About  Jack? 

JOHN.  Yes.  The  message  about  the  man  who  tried 
to  get  him  to  leave  the  boat.  Jack  said  to  him,  "My 
father  built  this  ship,  and  if  he  were  here,  he'd  go  down 
with  her.  I've  taken  his  place,  and  I  must  do  what  he 
would  wish."  .  .  .  Oh,  my  God,  my  God ! 

[He  is  unable  to  proceed  for  a  moment  or 
two.  Then  he  gets  up  and  goes  to  the 
windows,  and  leans  against  one  of  them.] 

JOHN.  It  seems  such  a  little  while  ago  since  he  was 
here.  Five  days !  And  now  he's  dead,  tossing  about 
somewhere  in  the  sea.  .  .  .  And  I  made  him  go.  I 
wouldn't  listen  to  him.  ...  I  wouldn't  let  him  have 
his  life.  ...  I  took  it  from  him!  .  .  .  (Coming  back 
to  OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.)  Oh,  mother,  what  am  I  to 
do  now?  There's  nothing  left.  All  I've  done  is  ... 
useless  now.  I've  failed.  Great  machines,  eating  up 
people's  lives!  That's  what  Jack  said.  I  couldn't 
understand  him !  I  thought  he  was  foolish !  .  .  .  I've 
been  wrong,  mother !  We've  all  been  wrong.  We've 
made  men  less  than  machines  .  .  .  that's  what  he  said 
.  .  .  and  I  made  him  less  than  my  machine  .  .  .  this 
ship!  .  .  .  (He  rests  his  hands  on  the  model.)  I 


92  The  Ship 

wonder  why  we  always  hunt  the  young  .  .  .  hunt 
them !  .  .  . 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  John,  you've  never  yielded  to 
anything,  have  you? 

JOHN.    No,  mother,  not  if  I  could  help  it. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    But  you're  yielding  now. 

JOHN.    Yielding? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Yes.  You  were  wrong  about 
Jack,  but  he  was  wrong  about  you.  Oh,  my  dear,  if 
you'd  only  met  each  other  half-way.  We  old  people 
won't  let  the  young  live  until  they're  old,  too,  and  then 
it's  too  late  to  live.  We  always  behave  as  if  we  were 
right  and  the  other  people  were  wrong,  but  none  of  us 
are  right  and  none  of  us  are  wrong.  That's  why  we 
have  to  meet  each  other  half-way.  Jack  and  you 
wouldn't  do  that,  John !  .  .  . 

JOHN.    And  I  took  his  life  from  him. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Yes,  but  you  won't  compen- 
sate him  by  taking  your  own  life.  You  owe  him  more 
than  that,  John.  You  must  pay  him  for  your  wrong 
with  your  right. 

JOHN.    How? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Go  on  with  your  work! 
That's  right.  He'd  have  known  it  was  right  if  he'd 
lived.  You've  lost  your  ship,  John.  Well,  build 
another  one. 

JOHN.    I  can't  bring  my  son  back  to  life. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  No,  you  can't  do  that.  But 
you  can  pass  on  your  work  to  the  next  Thurlow. 

JOHN.    The  next  Thurlow  ! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Yes.  There'll  soon  be  another 
Thurlow !  I  told  you  this  morning  about  Hester !,.,«, 


The  Ship  93 

JOHN  (almost  in  a  whisper).    Hester! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  If  Hester  has  a  son,  he  will 
build  ships  like  you.  And  you'll  teach  him  how  to 
build  them,  John? 

JOHN.    My  grandson ! 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  You've  got  to  keep  Thurlow's 
where  you  put  it  until  he  is  ready  to  take  it  from  you. 
And  we  won't  make  the  same  mistake  about  him  that 
we  made  about  Jack,  will  we?  Come  here,  my  dear! 
(She  draws  him  doivn  so  that  he  is  kneeling  beside  her 
with  his  head  on  her  shoulder.)  We  haven't  any 
right  to  run  away,  John.  We  must  go  on  and  face 
things!  .  .  . 

JOHN.  You've  more  courage  than  any  of  us,  mother. 
You're  the  real  Thurlow — you  always  want  to  go  on. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Well,  it's  better  to  go  on,  isn't 
it,  than  to  go  back?  I  don't  know  where  we're  going 
to,  but  we've  got  to  go. 

[They  are  silent  for  a  moment  or  two. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Won't  you  go  to  bed  now, 
John?  It's  very  late. 

[He  rises  to  his  feet. 

JOHN.    Very  well,  mother. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    You  won't  leave  me,  John  ? 

JOHN.    Leave  you,  mother? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  Yes.  You  said  I  was  the  real 
Thurlow — always  wanting  to  go  on.  I  don't  want  to 
go  alone,  John.  You  won't  leave  me? 

JOHN.    No,  mother. 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW  (handing  the  revolver  to  him). 
Then  will  you  please  put  this  away  somewhere  and  for- 
get about  it. 


94  The  Ship 

JOHN.    You  trust  me,  mother? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.    Yes,  dear. 

JOHN  (kissing  her).  Good-night.  (He  goes 
towards  the  door  and  then  turns  to  speak  to  her.) 
Aren't  you  going  to  bed  ? 

OLD  MRS.  THURLOW.  In  a  little  while.  Good-night, 
dear. 

JOHN.    Good-night,  mother! 

[He  goes  out,  and  she  remains  for  a  few 
moments  in  her  seat,  without  stirring. 
Suddenly  she  yields  to  her  tears,  and  for 
a  moment  or  two  she  abandons  herself 
to  grief.  Then  she  recovers  herself,  and 
gets  up  and  goes  to  the  open  windows 
and  shuts  them.  But  she  does  not  draw 
the  curtains.  She  stands  for  a  moment 
or  two  in  the  moonlight,  looking  into  the 
garden.  Then  she  crosses  the  room  to 
where  the  switch  is  and  turns  out  the 
light.  She  opens  the  door  and  goes  out 
of  the  room,  shutting  the  door  behind  her. 
There  is  quietness.  The  play  ends.] 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Book  Slip-25m-7,'61(C1437s4)4280 


A     001  187467     4 


UCLA-C°lle9e  Library 

PR6009E73S 


L  005  685  996  0 


L 


College 
Library 

PR 

6009 

E73s 


